Real Good Time
by Atari-chan
Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you’re a hallucination. HW slash.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Start story:

"House?"

As his third knock on the apartment door still failed to provoke any sort of response or reply, Wilson tried not to let his concern show in his voice. House had been a complete ass- as opposed to his usual state of just _really_ being an ass- ever since he'd lost a patient two days previously, and if Wilson was too obvious about the whole still-caring thing, he knew House would only use it to gain yet another unfair advantage over him. Just because _he_ seemed to feel absolutely nothing, he obviously thought that emotions were simply another tool for him to use in order to mess with people he should, really, have cared about.

Still, though, Wilson got no reply; and he frowned slightly. Usually his voice brought about at least the smash of an empty glass being thrown against he door, or muffled cursing as House was awoken to find himself collapsed on the floor, but this time there was nothing. Digging in his briefcase for his keys, Wilson felt his heart beating faster than he knew it should have been. He tried to tell himself it was alright; House was probably just asleep, the drugs and alcohol taking their toll in a less threatening way than the one he couldn't help imagining.

Despite his best efforts, however, he was as frantic as he could ever remember being as he tried to suppress the shaking of his hands as he unlocked the door. The apartment was dark, lit only by the television, which was muted, and Wilson couldn't help the hitch in his breath as he saw House lounging on the couch, limp, eyes glazed, but thankfully still breathing. He didn't acknowledge Wilson's arrival, though, the opening of his front door worryingly not even earning him a glance.

Wilson crossed the room to lean over the back of the sofa, giving House a disapproving look that was ignored as he had known it would be, although it was returned with a soft smile he hadn't expected. His shock, which stunned him momentarily into silence, was quickly overshadowed by his concern as he saw just how dilated House's pupils were. As House reached up to touch Wilson's cheek, the younger man realised that he was too far gone to even realise what he was doing, and a familiar ache settled in his chest as he considered the notion that House, no matter what Wilson did for him, would never even think about touching him that tenderly without the influence of mind-numbing drugs to stop him from considering the emotional implications that came with it.

"You're not here."

House spoke, his voice tired, low and gravely in a way that made Wilson's groin tingle guiltily. Ignoring it, though; something he was agonisingly accustomed to, he smiled affectionately, trying not to lean into the contact House was still torturing him with.

"News to me," he said quietly, unable to resist the call of the banter that had been exchanged so often. It was familiar, and he did his best not to make it obvious how much that reassured him as House removed his hand, letting it drop once more to his side.

"I pushed you away," House continued, though, and illogical though he knew it was, Wilson felt guilt upon hearing the statement, desperately wondering what he could have done to make House feel like that. What he could have done to cause House pain, because even the idea caused him agony that could rival House's own.

"Even if I wanted to, I couldn't leave you."

Wilson knew it was safe to be honest; if House didn't even know what he was saying, he stood no chance of remembering any untimely confessions on Wilson's part.

"You should."

Wilson snorted in bitter amusement, circling the couch to perch on the edge of the cushion, level with House's chest and twisted to face him.

"I know people think I'm burdening myself with you. That I'm still here because nobody else will stick around. They're wrong. I need you too; you're the only one who's ever understood."

"Understood what a fuck-up you really are."

Wilson rolled his eyes, but hesitated only briefly before sadly nodding his agreement, letting his gaze drop to the floor as he was suddenly struck with a frustrating inability to look into those eyes without feeling like he was exposing his entire being to someone who could rip him apart without a qualm. He'd never managed to get used to that part of the relationship- if it could reasonably be called that- he had with House.

"You got nothing on me."

Wilson smiled, but couldn't keep the sadness from his eyes as he realised that, although this was true, it wasn't a particularly phenomenal achievement. House's efforts to reassure him, though, made him at least feel a little wanted, if not entirely better. House's next words, though, snapped him out of his reverie as quickly as if someone had slapped him in the face.

"And what I wouldn't give for you to have something on me…"

Wilson forced himself to once again meet House's eyes, sure he would find nothing but amusement accompanied by that aggravating but oh-so-sexy smirk he always wore when he knew he had managed to have an impact, and felt his heart skip a beat as he saw nothing of the sort; nothing but sincerity and longing in beautiful blue eyes. Again he was stunned into silence, staring open mouthed as House's fingers once again reached up to trace his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw, the outline of his lips. Wilson wasn't entirely sure which one of them it was that was shaking, but it was the last thing on his mind as House tangled fingers in his hair, beginning to sit up as he pulled him down, meeting with only the slightest resistance as they collided, more than anything, somewhere in the middle, even House's lack of co-ordination and Wilson's inability to do anything but wonder what the fuck was going on making their first shared kiss nothing less than perfect, in either of their minds. They didn't think, but simply _did_, experiencing, tasting, savouring what they both knew, deep down, could be their only chance; House because he knew Wilson would never risk what they already had like that, and Wilson because House, out of his head though he often was, had to be flying particularly high to let anyone that close.

Neither of them dared to push it; the heated, open-mouthed and tongue-filled desperation of the kiss saying more than any touch could, the threat of having to stop before they absolutely had to lingering on the edge of their consciousness as they both got what they realised they'd _always_ wanted. It hadn't always been possible to express, but it had always been there.

"James, stop."

Wilson froze, tensing as he heard and felt House speak, and tearing himself away because, in his own emotionally suppressed way, House was saying he didn't have enough control to do it himself. He was suddenly terrified, for what he'd done and what could result from it; House wasn't angry and was endeavouring to show him that, but there was clearly something wrong.

"I can't do this. I want _you_."

"What?" Wilson blinked, and had to ask for clarification, unable to even begin to comprehend what had just been said and suggested.

"I can't torture myself. I screwed him. Fucked him away. I lost him."

Wilson didn't have to be a psychology expert to know that the distorted verb forms showed House's confusion, but that wasn't what concerned him the most.

"Who?" he asked, softly, that damn ache in his chest returning as his suspicions were confirmed.

"My Jimmy."

House's assumption of ownership was the closest to an endearment that Wilson knew he was going to get, and as his eyelids drooped, Wilson knew that it was almost all he was going to get that night.

"I'm right here."

He said, the futility of it hitting him as House's eyes closed, a soft smile lingering on lips Wilson wanted desperately to kiss just once more.

"The _real_ you."

And as House slipped peacefully into sleep, Wilson let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, covering his mouth with his hand as the thought of waking House and having to deal with his lack of recollection so soon made him feel so much worse. After taking a moment to contain himself, and the emotions he could feel rising to the surface, he stood, unable to so much as look at House as he left, returning to his car where he sat, agonising over the complete fucking unfairness of it all. He stopped himself from hitting the dashboard, knowing the physical pain would only make him worse, and even managed to make his way back to his hotel room before collapsing, actually crying, sobbing hysterically for the first time since he'd realised just what being an oncologist meant.

He crawled into bed, or at least onto it, still dressed, his emotions still making themselves known in the most ungainly of fashions, and cried himself to sleep.

End chapter

_Emo Wilson. Well, not really, since he has a reason to be sad. Anyway, this is my birthday present to you all. It's my birthday, and a present for you. Bonus. In return, though, I'd like you to guess how old I am. Because I'm curious to know what you all think. Some comment on my writing would be nice also; particular areas of awkwardness, etc. I just want to get better!_

_Next chapter will be up… hopefully sooner than my T3 updates. Yes, I can pretty much guarantee that the next chapter will be here in less than 2 years._


	2. Chapter 2

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Start chapter:

As he was awoken by the banter of annoying morning DJs, Wilson groaned out loud as his head pounded painfully. He hadn't been drinking; that he knew simply by the fact that he could remember the previous night. For a change, he wished he _couldn't_ remember what had happened; at least then it would be only the pain in his head he had to deal with.

He forced himself into a sitting position, squinting against the light that completely ineffective hotel curtains failed to block out. His head continued to pound, the upright position making it even worse as he crossed to his bathroom, avoiding meeting his own eyes in the mirror because he knew he would hate what he saw. A sad, dejected failure who was completely in love with his best friend of many years, and had been just about able to deal with this in his own way until aforementioned friend kissed him like nobody had ever kissed him before. House had kissed _him_, and if it had been anyone else he could have taken it as a good sign. House had kissed _Cameron_, for God's sake; he was hardly selective. But he hadn't initiated _that_ one…

Stepping under the slowly warming water of the shower, Wilson quelled the hope that was threatening to rise to the surface of his brain; hope would only end up getting him hurt even more. If he had no expectations, he couldn't possibly be disappointed.

Well, he could. Every touch, comment, fucking _glance_ House gave him was analysed for some form of hidden meaning, and Wilson had never been able to persuade himself to completely give up hope. He'd never been rejected outright, and at that point in time it was the only thing keeping him going. He leaned his head against the cool tile of the wall, closing his eyes against the spray of water and finding himself reliving the previous night with his own creative additions.

Again he had to resist the urge to hit something, and he turned the water temperature control to the coldest it would go in an attempt to distract himself from thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having.

_So fucking pathetic._

He dressed, dried his hair, taking refuge in the distraction the daily routine provided him with. As long as he thought only about what he was doing at that moment, he'd be fine.

He made it to work with a few minutes to spare, focusing unnecessarily on his coffee and nodding a polite greeting to anyone who greeted him. _Tired_. The excuse was on the tip of his tongue for anyone who questioned his slightly distracted behaviour; _some patient or other was dying_. It was a safe bet, in his specialty. Someone was always dying, and many of them were children. Files had to be submitted; he was working late. The list of excuses went on, and although he cursed inwardly as venturing down the corridor to his office caused him to pass Cameron and her infinite concern, he was practiced enough to know he could offer valid excuses, even to her.

"Doctor Wilson!"

She just _had_ to start a conversation. Couldn't see that he wanted to be left alone. That was why she'd never get any further with House; she didn't _know_, like he did. She always had to fucking ask.

"Doctor Cameron."

Wilson smiled politely, not entirely sure that the smile was reaching his eyes but taking refuge in the knowledge that Cameron wouldn't notice.

"Doctor Wilson. I… have you seen House?"

Ah, that one he could answer. The practiced response that seemed to answer every question that involved House in some way.

"What's he done now?"

"Well, that's just it. He hasn't done anything. He showed up, and sat in his office. He didn't even say hello. And… he's flying."

"As in… he's high, or he's forgotten to… zip up?"

"What?" for a moment, Cameron looked confused, before the realisation hit her and she winced at the thought, "Uh, the first one. I didn't check the second. Should I have?"

"No. Just clarifying," Wilson shrugged, desperately trying not to smile as he realised just who he was acting like, and how much he wanted to ask if she really needed an excuse to stare at House's crotch. Instead, he affected his best concerned expression, and nodded, before suddenly having a realisation of his own.

"Wait… _showed_ up? As in… past tense? As in he arrived before I did?"

Cameron nodded, her expression conveying that she recognised the severity of the situation, at least. Wilson left, his own concern providing him with an excuse not to bother with a farewell. So focused was he, though, on not thinking about what had happened the previous night, he arrived in the doorway to House's office before realising that he had absolutely no idea ho he was going to deal with the situation. House looked up from where he had been staring blankly at his desk, and swiftly lowered his eyes again.

Now, Wilson could read House better than most, but his evasiveness could suggest anything. Of course it depended on whether or not he remembered the previous night, to begin with… whether he'd realised that the Wilson of last night was, in fact, not a figment of his imagination… whether he'd wanted it and the drugs had pushed him to reveal the truth, or if they'd just caused him to seek affection wherever he could find it.

"Heard you got in early. Something wrong?" Wilson took a seat across from House, and noticed the other man watching him, eyes narrowed slightly. Wilson frowned curiously back, before realising that the shaking if House's hands and the minimal reduction in pupil dilation could only mean one thing.

"You're still high from last night," he said, shock, concern and guilt all surfacing at once and making his voice a little higher in pitch than he'd originally intended; just how much had House taken? _What_ had he taken? And why?

House's eyes widened slightly; the clearest indication of shock Wilson knew he was ever going to get.

"You… were there last night?"

"You don't remember?"

It took all of Wilson's willpower to remain neutral, as he desperately tried to figure out what House believed had happened. His concerned expression intact, he watched House carefully as he replied.

"Once?" House had to ask for clarification; a fair few scenarios were replaying in his head at the same time; confused and muddled and he wasn't even sure if it was one of those- the ones he could remember- that had actually happened. He could have fabricated them all, for all he knew. They always seemed so real at the time… almost always. One had become clearer since; he knew he could rule it out; there was no way Wilson would ever hit him back, and the lack of bruises- which he now felt guilty about having to check for- had proven that one to be incorrect. So what _had _happened?

"Yeah…" Wilson nodded, allowing confusion to show; a drugged up House was unlikely to notice the subtle changes between sincerity and his affected emotions.

House sighed, closing his eyes as he ran the scenes through his mind once again, trying to separate them, get them into a logical order. The futility of it only served to frustrate him, though, and he was forced to admit defeat.

"What did I do?" he asked, meeting Wilson's eyes and finding confusion and hesitation there that mirrored his own. Which meant that he'd done something embarrassing, that Wilson didn't want to tell him about. Something that had messed with Wilson's head just as much as it had his own…

Oh, God, he'd kissed him. He'd kissed Wilson, and the other man couldn't bear to leave him in his emotionally vulnerable state. He'd humoured him, because Wilson took everything he dished out and gave nothing but love in return.

"I kissed you." House was speaking more to himself than anything else as the realisation hit him, but Wilson nodded sadly all the same. So he _did_ remember. And he was about to give some agonising sequence of excuses; the drink, the drugs, the loneliness, the need for affection. Words he didn't want to hear; that he didn't know if he could take. And so, before House had a chance, he said something of his own.

"Technically, _I_ kissed _you_."

In any other situation, House's expression of complete and utter shock would have been amusing, but Wilson was too concerned with the feeling of his heart trying to tear its way out of his chest to find it so.

"You didn't," House shook his head, apparently unappreciative of Wilson's efforts, and the younger man frowned; a few minutes ago he hadn't even been able to remember what had happened, and suddenly it was all perfectly clear? Okay, so he _had_ been lying, but it shouldn't have been quite that obvious…

"You wouldn't do that… why would you want _me_?" House muttered, again to himself, and Wilson wanted to burst into tears as he realised just how badly House thought of himself. And he wanted to scream as House came to the only conclusion he could draw after a lifetime of being told he wasn't worth the air he breathed.

"This isn't real…"

"House!"

House barely registered the objection- didn't matter anyway, since it wasn't real- as the darkness that had been lurking on the edge of his vision all morning finally claimed him.

End chapter:

_I know, I know. It's too short again. Have to say, though, the guesses about my age are pretty good. Whether they're right or not, though, is another question. Or another answer. Maybe even both._

_One more round of guesses, though. I shall tell you next chapter. Feel free to also guess just which parts of this were real. And also to read my other House fics, if you're enjoying this one but want a little less angst. Although one of them is possibly even worse than this one. Yikes._


	3. Chapter 3

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Start chapter:

_"-where a traffic collision is causing problems for all motorists in the area. Now, it's time for the weather, with-"_

_"-personally, I believe that the only one to blame for the problems in Iraq is-"_

_"-donuts? With viagra? What the hell are you-"_

It took House a while to realise that what he could hear was actually the television, and there weren't, as his brain seemed intent on telling him, a selection of people having rather disjointed discussions in his apartment. A further moment later, he realised that he was in his own bed, and a glance at the clock told him that it was 8.30 in the morning. He struggled to remember what had happened, memories of coming home and searching various cupboards for a temporary chemical escape from life.

He'd found… something. Something that had caused him to invent a somewhat twisted homoerotic side to his relationship with Wilson. Well, not invent as such; the side had been there for a long time, in his mind at least; maybe _highlight_ was a better word. Or embellish. Exaggerate?

Anyway, he'd found something, and that particular something was apparently wearing off, because his head and his leg hurt like hell. He reached for his vicodin on the bedside table, and groaned in frustration as he knocked the bottle onto the floor. The telltale sounds of Wilson- or at least he hoped it was Wilson, because nobody else should be in his apartment, watching his television- moving to stand in his doorway where, rather aggravatingly, he stood, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded as he watched House leaning over the side of the bed to pick up the bottle of pills, swallowing two as he sat up, taking a moment to examine Wilson's posture and carefully neutral expression.

"Okay, you're pissed. I get it. I'm sorry. Alright?" House raised his eyebrows, but his attempt at conveying his own annoyance only made his headache worse, and he winced in pain. The effect was ruined slightly, but that was the last thing he cared about as his pills began to kick in and sweet relief from the pain in his head- although the one in his leg still remained vaguely in the background- was finally his. Still, though, Wilson's glare burned into him, and he frowned slightly as he realised that he had obviously done something rather wrong for Wilson to be that… silent. As much as he complained about the lectures, anything was better than the silence which, if he let it, could drag on for hours.

"This… isn't just about the drugs." House verified, the stony look he got in reply quite frankly enough to give him an idea.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

House frowned, confused by the combination of melancholy and resentment in Wilson's voice and expression.

"Remember what?" he asked, and felt guilt stab at him as Wilson clearly struggled not to cry, clearly feeling betrayed. What had he done?

Tears slowly accumulating as he desperately tried to suppress them, Wilson unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it from his shoulders to show a rather impressive set of bruises across his chest. House couldn't believe it, wordlessly reached his arms out to Wilson who, evidently displeased, crossed the room to stand in front of him, standing perfectly still, tense as fingers gently traced the outline of the various purpling marks on previously unmarred skin.

"I did this?" House whispered, unable to even take a moment to savour the experience of touching Wilson in a way he wouldn't otherwise be allowed to do as he considered what he must have done, and how little Wilson must have done to resist in order to take that much damage.

"You…" Wilson's voice cracked as he spoke, and House could have sworn he felt his heart breaking, "You tried to prove I wasn't real. That I was just a hallucination."

It took House a while to realise that the sensation squeezing at his chest was guilt; complete and unadulterated guilt for doing something that caused his friend so much pain, and even longer to notice that the wetness on his face were a result of him actually _crying_. Tears trickled slowly down his cheeks, and, embarrassed by his inability to hide his own weakness, he raised a hand to wipe them away. He lowered his hand, though, to find blood dripping from his fingers, and he couldn't help the horror that washed over him in the few seconds it took for relief to overcome it.

"This isn't real."

He knew he was talking to himself, in his own mind, but spoke out loud anyway in an attempt to get it through to the deeper, darker recesses of his mind that this dream was over. He kept his gaze lowered, unwilling to see what his sick and depraved mind would do to further disfigure his dream Wilson, before closing his eyes, willing himself to wake up. He had to stop this, had to figure out exactly what was going on before it drove him truly insane.

As if enough people didn't want him committed already.

End chapter:

_Okay, they're getting shorter… This one isn't even 1000 words. Disgraceful. But I wanted to keep the scenes separate, so you all have time to wonder what the hell is going on._

_Update'll be up soon; this is fun to write and people are being so wonderful! Thank you all, whether you've reviewed, faved, alerted or just read it and fucked off. If I made you happy, even for a little while, it's enough. Feel free to feel happier for longer, with my other fics._

_Might make you wait another chapter before I tell you my age. I'm also curious as to why you guessed what you did. So if you've got enough time on your hands- or at least as much as I have- drop me a line. I'll tell you something, though. Only one guess- that has provided a number- has been right so far. Ooh._


	4. Chapter 4

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Let's begin:

House sat bolt upright as he found himself, once more, apparently awakening in his own bed.

"Jesus Christ, House!"

Awake but not entirely sure what was going on. House blinked a couple of times to clear his blurred vision; apparently his eyes had been trying to cry in his sleep and had only succeeded in making it difficult for him to see anything. He recognised the voice, though; that _had_ to be Wilson, although the exclamation had been a little odd.

"Is it still blasphemy if you don't believe in him?" he had to ask, and could see even with his eyes shut as Wilson rolled his eyes, suppressing an aggravated sigh.

"It's still an expression of surprise as someone who's been unconscious for 4 hours sits up as though someone's shoved something electrical up him. You nearly knocked _me_ out."

House frowned, unable to ignore the implications in that comment.

"Did I knock someone out?"

"You knocked _yourself_ out, when you slipped from your chair and head slammed the desk."

"Well, that explains why my head is killing me."

House raised a hand to his head, massaging the bridge of his nose as he momentarily thanked his lack of vision; at least it blocked out the sunlight that was creeping around the curtains. He winced, though, as his fingers brushed the rather large lump that was forming on his forehead

"You should've seen it before I got you an ice pack." Wilson muttered, aware, as always, of what House was thinking, "Are you… alright? Your pupils match, but you seem a little dazed."

"I can't see anything." House found himself almost snapping as he had to explain himself; Wilson should have figured that out! Why hadn't he figured it out? Wasn't he paying attention? Probably thinking about some woman he'd rather be spending time with.

"You can't see?"

House felt Wilson's fingers tilting his chin up; raised his eyebrows and waited less than patiently as Wilson shone a fucking light in his eyes and his retinas screamed in indignation at the brightness.

"You can't see anything?" Wilson asked, and House glared in the direction Wilson's voice was coming from.

"Okay, _Simon says_ I can see a vague, sort of dark blur. If I squint I can just about make out your perfectly groomed hair. Although it could just be your eyebrows, it's always been difficult to tell."

Silently, he dared Wilson to repeat his words in question form again, but the comment about his eyebrows seemed to have quietened him somewhat. He'd always been a little self conscious about things like that; little things, that nobody else really notice until they were mentioned, and for a second he felt a little guilty for bringing it up when Wilson was that bothered. Still, it was by no means the worst thing House had ever thrown at him.

"Well, I can't see anything wrong with you. Maybe you're just losing your sight in your _old age_. The leg was first, the hair's going. And only being able to score with women you pay for?"

House was sure Wilson would have continued if, moving with surprising agility considering the pain in his head and loss of vision, House hadn't punched him. It wasn't a _particularly _hard hit; just enough to make him _shut the fuck up_, but it still made a satisfying impact as knuckles collided with cheekbone. House knew he was at a considerable disadvantage; Wilson was, as he'd mentioned, younger, and stronger than him. But it was okay, because he knew the other man would never hit him back. Wilson wasn't nearly as good at inflicting physical pain as he was at the psychological kind, and House had occasionally wanted to smack him one when he started in on one of his lectures, but had never had the guts to do it before.

And so, understandably, he was somewhat surprised when Wilson, aware of his particular advantages because, damn it, he knew House better than anyone, retaliated, and it was in a blur of surprise and pain that House found himself being forced onto his front, one arm up behind his back, Wilson's body pressing down on his in a way that wasn't comforting, wasn't arousing in any way, but was actually scaring him, suffocating him underneath weight he knew he couldn't fight.

And for the first time in his life, he was able to compare Wilson to his father; the fear and helplessness bringing back memories he knew he'd repressed for a reason, memories of punishment and loneliness and isolation that he'd always been sure Wilson could take away. Could protect him from, with the support and affection and _love_ he'd always given.

And when he heard a voice, the voice wasn't Wilson's, but his father's.

"Not going to fight back, Greg? _That's_ why you deserve this, why you're so pathetic that I _have_ to do this. Only fighters get by in this world."

And he'd been told it so many times that he almost believed it. Almost wanted to prove to his father that he _was_ a fighter; that he'd always done all he could to win his approval before he'd realised that, no matter what he did, he was never going to get it. He'd changed; set out to prove himself only _to_ himself… until he'd met Wilson.

Until then he'd been truly self-dependant, ignoring everyone and everything that he thought was going to get in his way, including things like friendship and emotions because they weren't logical, they weren't objective and they wouldn't help him be the best diagnostician in the fucking world. But when he'd met Wilson, he had suddenly seen the meaning in all of that. He'd seen that, in all his smiles, and gestures, and reassurances, Wilson had an ability that he never would. An ability to deal with situations that had always left House at a complete loss; ones that didn't involve rationality; that involved emotions and anomalies. And initially it had frustrated him, that someone else had this ability he could never hope to gain himself but, as they met, began to talk more and more (House had found, strangely, that increasing numbers of his patients just might have cancer, and of course he needed to oversee tests that were being done by such a young, inexperienced oncologist) Wilson worked it on him too. Drew him into emotions he'd been unwilling to feel until them. Introduced him to Stacey, comforted him when anything- or everything- went wrong, when the pain spiked and House nearly overdosed, screamed at him, fought with him. Never once hit back.

And suddenly House was angry at his own mind for dragging Wilson into his memories, for making him into this image of his father when he was nothing like that; nothing at all!

House wasn't entirely sure how it happened; his mind didn't seem to have difficulty with continuity errors in his hallucinations, but he had the ability to see again and was the one doing the pinning, Wilson on his back beneath him, looking more terrified than House could ever remember seeing him, and as House lifted a hand to touch Wilson's cheek and saw his best friend flinch away from the movement, he realised that while he was being plagued by the agony in his chest, his leg was doing nothing to bother him. He touched his thigh where he knew the scar should be, and felt nothing but unblemished skin. As he felt Wilson trembling beneath him, though, he knew that he couldn't stay in this world. Pain was… well, it wasn't _nothing_, but it was bearable. Because he wasn't alone.

He _really_ needed to wake up.

End chapter:

_So much fun! I hope you're all enjoying this as much as I am! Emo House has come to join the party. The next chapter should be a little cheerier._

_Emo Wilson may return, complete with fringe, eyeliner and Spiderman 3-esque dancing outside a clothing store that's having a sale. On ties. Because Wilson just fucking loves ties._

_Just finished reading the new HP book. In an emo mood. Won't spoil the ending if you haven't read it yet, but I will say that Draco and Harry did not have passionate gay sex. Shame, that. In fact, there was no gay love at all. What sort of book doesn't have gay love?_


	5. Chapter 5

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Start chapter:

House found himself in a field. Not just any field, though. A poppy field that could have been taken straight out of a wartime Europe history book. House was sure he didn't own any of those, but here it was. Straight out of his own imagination. The ground was dry, at least; his imagination had not extended to his wardrobe and he was barefoot, although thankfully without the need for his cane. He wore simply jeans and a white t-shirt in fact; obviously the details lay elsewhere in the scenario.

And so, as no response was forthcoming from the scene around him, he began to walk. Maybe if he hurried he could catch General Hospital. Nah, what did he care? He was alone, in this admittedly surreal but pain-free world, and that was how he liked it.

Actually, he wasn't alone. There was… a rabbit. Sitting on the edge of something that closely resembled a trench, there was a reddish-brown rabbit that, as it turned to face him, House saw to be eating a marshmallow.

_Oh, God_, he thought. That could only mean one thing.

"House?"

His brain had created a cute little bunny Cameron.

"House, are you alright?" the rabbit spoke again, and House noticed that it didn't quite have Cameron's voice down; it was a little higher and whinier than her real voice. Still, who was he to argue with his own mind?

"No, I'm not alright. I'm imagining you as a bunny."

Despite his displeasure, though, House took a seat beside his Cameron rabbit, letting his legs hang down into the trench.

"I _am_ a bunny."

He rolled his eyes; she was just as pedantic as ever.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I think I'm in love with Wilson."

Hey, anything was better than talking to the real-life Cameron, and if the bunny was going to offer him drug-warped advice without the embarrassment of having to face her simpering later, he'd take it. For a moment he wondered vaguely if the rabbit association had anything to do with the synonymous _device_, but put those thoughts to the back of his mind as a glance at the bunny revealed it to be having some sort of fit…

Its eyes were dilated to about ten times the usual size and filled with tears, and a small rivulet of drool trickled from the corner of its mouth. It looked like something out of a twisted Asian cartoon, and if House could have made it disappear into some small ball-shaped prison, he would have done it in a flash.

"That's so sweet!"

Cameron bunny's eventual response, though, explained somewhat, and House couldn't help but put his head in his hands. Figured that was what his imaginary Cameron would say. Whether the real one would say the same thing, he didn't know, but his subconscious might have noticed more than his conscious mind, he supposed. Either that or this was just another completely inaccurate hallucination.

Well, that narrowed it down.

"You should tell him."

The bunny nodded in a way House assumed it thought was convincing, resembling one of those horrific nodding dogs as big brown eyes looked imploringly at him. His mind was fucking twisted.

"How? 'Hey, Wilson, speaking of that patient I treated or that football game we're watching, I'm in love with you and think I may have been for quite some time. Wanna fuck?'"

"No," the Cameron bunny looked at him and shook her head, her tone resembling the patronising scolding of a nursery school teacher, "It's not _fucking_. It's making love."

House couldn't bring himself to do anything but look horrified for a few seconds. A _rabbit_ was lecturing him on the emotional involvement of sex. _Cameron_ was lecturing him on the emotional part, as if he hadn't noticed what she'd been doing to –or with- Chase all that time.

"Right, well thanks for your help," he said with exaggerated brightness that was lost on Cameron; smiling, she finished her marshmallow and hopped away, leaving a trail of lush green grass and flowers in her wake. House ran a hand through his hair, before letting himself drop into the trench and beginning to wander along it, in the direction that was farthest from the one in which Cameron had departed.

He walked for a while, supposing this was his brain's metaphorical journey of thought. Personally, he thought a train of thought would possibly have been more relevant, but since it allowed him to savour the ability to walk without the assistance of his cane or, worse, another human being, he let it go. And it gave him a little time to think, although as usual his thoughts went around in circles; he _should_ tell Wilson, but he couldn't risk what they already had, unless it was worth it. Unless Wilson returned his feelings. And he couldn't know the answer to that. Not without asking. But by asking he'd be taking the risk anyway; he'd be revealing something about himself that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted anyone to know. Even Wilson. Or maybe especially Wilson.

The trench seemed to level out, leading him into an open field, containing nothing but a tree in the centre. House was reminded of something but couldn't quite place it as, concluding that whatever he encountered couldn't possibly be as traumatising as the Cameron rabbit, he headed towards the tree. Seemingly an oak tree, as he neared and identified what were clearly acorns amongst the leaves. The trunk had low branches, and he managed a small smile as they enabled him to climb into the tree; something he hadn't done since his childhood. His smile faded, however, as he noticed that he wasn't alone in the tree. Directly in front of him as he found himself a comfortable enough branch to sit on, was an oversized red squirrel.

"House!"

House was briefly reminded of the reason he'd concluded had caused him to turn to Wilson for comfort; all the women he knew were psychos.

"Cuddy," he greeted the squirrel which, as he hadn't previously imagined possible, had an even more annoying voice than Cameron; it sounded like Cuddy on a fast-forwarded recording.

"House, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

House settled back against the tree, closing his eyes as he let the Cuddy squirrel's words wash over him.

"As if it wasn't bad enough you skipping work for the day, you took Wilson with you! You're dragging him down, House. To your level. He deserves better than that."

The squirrel seemed less angry, more sympathetic, and it took House a moment to realise that the sympathy was directed at _him_ as well as Wilson.

"I know you can't change. Not for anyone. But you can't put him through that."

"Put him through what?"

House was suddenly angry; she didn't understand; nobody understood! They only thought they did, from their observations. But they didn't see everything; didn't see House caring for Wilson like he'd never cared for anyone else; didn't see that everything House did, however cruel it seemed, was for Wilson's own good because he was too damn naïve to see the world as it really was!

"I do more for him than you will ever know! Sure, I push him, but all I push for is honesty. I push him to be who he _really_ is. And you don't see it, because you –and I don't care how many dates you've been on- have never seen him. You've seen Doctor Wilson; oncologist and all-around nice guy. But you haven't seen James. Not like I have."

House didn't care how much of an idiot he sounded; this was in his own head and if he was going to get it out, better to do it now than when he was standing in Cuddy's office and the real her implied that Wilson would be better off without him.

"I've seen him at his worst; divorces, patients, life in general. I've seen him cry. And I've held him, I've comforted him because I know that he knows that I'm the only one who will really listen. The only one who sees him, and knows him enough to know exactly what he needs. And he doesn't need gestures; he doesn't need insincerity and preaching and fucking flowers; he just needs somebody to be there and think no worse of him because he's not perfect. Because I know he's not perfect, and you've only ever see me use that to my advantage because you're not him. You don't understand and you never will."

Rant over, House sat back against the tree trunk once more, suddenly feeling better than he had in a long time; saying it out loud helped him to get it straight in his own head, even if it didn't actually have an effect on Cuddy's real behaviour. Still, he could ignore that; had been doing it for years, taking refuge in the knowledge that she didn't know what he was really doing. She didn't understand and she was in no way a threat because of it.

"You should tell him that."

The squirrel sobered, and spoke quietly with a greater resemblance to Cuddy's real voice than before. House had a moment to check for sincerity before it ran, further up the tree and out of his sight. House sighed, suddenly realising the futility of all of this. It had only made him realise with even more conviction than ever that he needed to tell Wilson. Because he'd understand. Knowing Wilson, he already knew but just hadn't said anything to protect House's feelings. He always seemed so concerned about those. Although that could possibly be because nobody else he knew believed he actually _had_ any. It just made him seem so much more concerned by comparison.

House jumped as he felt something nudging at his hand, and looked down to see a black cat seeking attention as it pushed its nose under his hand. Frowning slightly, he stroked the soft fur of its head. _Her_ head, he realised suddenly as she clambered from her branch onto his lap and settled there, quietly reassuring. He scratched her behind the ears, and his expression saddened as she leaned into him, encouraging but silent because she knew better than to have to say anything.

He missed Wilson. Wanted to feel him; and not even just sexually, just to know he was there, and that he cared. Wanted to kiss him, and for once not wish it was somebody else he held in his arms.

Wanted to tell him that he loved him, because he truly deserved to hear it.

End chapter:

_Someone said to me the other day, "It's only fanfiction, punctuation and grammar don't matter."_

_I nearly stabbed them in the eyes with my pen. Seriously._

_Oh, the moment you've all been waiting for. I am, in fact, 18 years old. Surprised?_

_Also, have noticed that the number of reviews I'm getting for each chapter is decreasing. Anyone able to tell me why?_


	6. Chapter 6

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Okay, go:

Once more, House found himself in his own bed. Unfortunately, what with all that had happened in his head even in his own bed, he couldn't bring himself to be thankful for anything but the loss of the Cameron bunny. Because that had just been fucking freaky.

"Finally awake? Where'd you go, nineteen seventy-three?"

Wilson stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, and House inhaled sharply as the flashback hit him, and he sat up, unable to help but notice the suspicious lack of pain in his leg as he sat up, gesturing with both hands for Wilson to come closer. Arching an eyebrow at the surprising urgency in the action, Wilson did so, a little unnerved but sure that nothing House could do could possibly shock him after all they'd been through.

He was proved wrong, though as House, caught up in the visions plaguing him; Wilson covered in bruises he had in fact inflicted himself, almost tore his shirt off in his desperation to reassure himself that it _had _just been a hallucination; a dream. Anything fictional, as long as it meant he hadn't hurt the one person who had always stood by him.

House's relief was evident as he discovered a complete lack of damage barring an appendix scar he really hoped he hadn't inflicted while high. And Wilson did his best to hide how reassured _he_ was by the fact that House had finished with only his shirt. He had to wonder what had happened, though, what House had dreamed to make him this… open. Usually he'd have come out with at least a sarcastic remark by now, but as his hands found purchase on Wilson's hips, House leaned his head against the younger man's chest, Wilson feeling a familiar ache in his chest as he felt the soft flutter of eyelashes against his skin.

Softly, because he wanted nothing less than to scare House into letting go, he raised a hand to stroke his hair. He didn't say anything; had no idea what he could possibly say, but was thankfully saved from having to speak as House got there first, his grip on Wilson tightening slightly as he seemed to gather the courage to confess, as it were.

"I don't know what's real anymore."

"Does anybody really know?" Wilson was calm, careful to avoid anything that could be seen as challenging, and met House's eyes as the other man looked up at him, searching for who knew what.

"Are you real?" House was disoriented; Wilson knew he was having trouble with settling on a reality. He'd been dreaming, muttering in his sleep on occasion, and as if their initial encounter hadn't been enough to prove that House had no idea what was in his head and what wasn't, the way he was clinging, actually managing to show affection for a change, showed that he didn't really believe this to be something he'd have to explain. Something that was truly occurring.

Wilson knew he'd feel guilty for it later; the slow, crushing, agonising guilt that so often seemed to accompany –and, arguably, resulted from- his relationship with House, but he took advantage of the situation. For both their sakes, or so he told himself.

"What would you tell me if I was?" he spoke gently but with care not to be seen as patronising, since he knew that, to House, that was more insulting than shitting in his face. It was a mark of just how much House's influence had affected him that he used such a frankly disgusting comparison, and he had to fight the urge to wrinkle his nose in distaste. It would be a little difficult to explain.

House stared at him, convinced by his own reasoning that this whole scenario was his mind attempting to make him confront this increasingly significant difficulty in his life. After all he'd been through that day –if it _was_ still that same day- he wasn't even sure if he was ever going to wake up; maybe he'd just spend the rest of his life floating through different realities, becoming increasingly desperate to escape as he realised just how much he loved and missed the one thing that had always kept him going.

He had to say _something_. Had to wake himself up; rip himself from this pain-free world because even the agony his leg caused him could be nothing compared to knowing he'd never see Wilson again; never get up in the middle of the night and suppress an involuntary smile as he saw the rarely mussed head of hair protruding from the mass of bedding on his couch; never drag up some old annoyance from the depths of his memory just so he had an excuse to hop across the wall between their balconies and pull the head of Oncology out of an important meeting; never feel that pleasurable but oh so painful tingling as his hand or knee brushed Wilson's by accident and he craved more, so much more, but had to be silent, had to stop himself because he couldn't hurt him.

"I care," he began quietly, starting small, wanting desperately to stare, blushing, at the floor but forcing himself to look into Wilson's eyes, gauging his reaction and seeing nothing but care and concern and so much of the fucking love nobody thought he returned, "I care more… or differently, to how I should about a friend."

Wilson's eyes widened; House knew that he already knew exactly what he was trying to say, but continued anyway. He deserved to hear it, for a change. And, if he was honest, he could do with a rehearsal before confronting the real thing.

"I want… I want you to stop sleeping on my couch. I want to wake up beside you and… go to sleep knowing you're safe next to me."

Wilson's eyes were actually beginning to glisten with tears and House struggled even more against the urge to look away; he had to see it, because it wasn't something he was about to confess everyday, even if it meant seeing Wilson look so fucking adorable.

"I want…" for a moment, House tore his gaze away from Wilson's eyes to take in the body before him, and couldn't deny the arousal that sparked in him as he did so. He swallowed, unable to help feeling embarrassed by just how loud it seemed, "I want to touch you; to taste you; to feel you. Everywhere."

Again he paused, dragging his eyes back up to Wilson's to meet the single most emotional expression he'd ever seen from the man with 3 wives, divorces; daily patient deaths on his mind, and couldn't help but feel something he couldn't quite name as he knew that he was the only one who could have such an impact.

And finally, his hands –which, he noticed with a slight shock were shaking slightly- ghosted upwards, trailing over the gloriously exposed chest before him before curving fingers around Wilson's neck, pulling him downwards to House's slightly lower level with as little resistance as he'd ever encountered.

"I want…" he closed his eyes for a moment, unable to deny the tears beginning to form and the lump in his throat which just didn't want to let him complete a whole sentence at once, "I want to love you like you deserve to be loved."

Something that could only have been a sob escaped Wilson's throat as he was pulled into the softest of kisses; and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to just break down in tears then and there. He knew how difficult it must have been for House to say that, even if he was convinced this was all some intricate design of his own mind, and he was surprised that his heart didn't explode with the amount of love he felt for the other man.

"But…" as House withdrew, he made something of an attempt to regain his reputation, "I want you to get tested first. I don't know where you've been."

Wilson laughed through his tears, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before he pulled House into his arms, holding him close.

"I love you," he said, and felt House's grip on him tighten slightly.

"I know."

While Wilson appreciated the comment more than House knew, he could tell from the heavy undertones in the other man's voice that he considered their conversation over and was, in fact, about to fall asleep on him. Extricating himself with some difficulty, he manoeuvred House into a more comfortable position on the bed; uncooperative though he usually was, anything was better than trying to move him while he was sleeping. He stayed close, though, seated beside him as he stroked a stubbled cheek with the back of a finger.

"You'll stay?" House reached up to take Wilson's hand in his.

"Always."

"Will _he_?"

"Nothing in the world could take him from you." Wilson felt a little odd, talking about himself in third person, but let it go; House needed the reassurance, and he knew he could do nothing but give it.

"My Jimmy…" House trailed off as his consciousness faded, and Wilson rolled his eyes affectionately, smiling as he removed his hand from House's.

"Your Jimmy," he agreed quietly with someone he knew couldn't hear him, "He's always been yours."

End chapter:

_This made me cry. I'm not entirely sure why._

_I'm not a comment whore! I'm not! I just wanted to know why! Still, it worked though, eh? Ehehe. Thank you all, truly._

_Aww, I got called precocious. It would have been a little more effective if I didn't have to look it up to find out what it meant. Oops._

_Cuddy was a red squirrel in order to draw a parallel between the dominant grey squirrels in nature and the dominant men in higher levels of industry._

_Not really. That's a load of bollocks. But if an English student wrote an essay about this story, they could say that because English essays are generally the aforementioned load of bollocks._

_Just had an image of a truck with a load full of bollocks. Ew. _

_Hahaha._


	7. Chapter 7

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Start chapter:

Wilson awoke the to the familiar sight of House's TV from the perspective of the couch, and the familiar aching in his neck that resulted from sleeping in such an awkward position on something that was far too short. He sat up and stretched, idly massaging his neck with one hand as he headed for the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

The less familiar sight of House sitting on the sideboard in the kitchen, however, made him stop dead; House wasn't usually even awake by this point of Wilson's morning ritual; it was at least half an hour until he stirred and another twenty minutes or so before he was mobile. So what was he doing up?

"You're up early," Wilson's comment invited an explanation, but didn't request it, and from the guarded look House gave him, he could tell that forcing the matter would most likely gain him nothing. Based on that assumption, he figured that not mentioning what had happened the previous night would not be a strategically sound move either. Especially since he was already struggling to suppress the urge to go for it and just fucking kiss him, because it was what they both wanted and he knew it. But House didn't. House had little recollection of his hallucinations, and since the events that had really occurred were jumbled in amongst them, Wilson doubted that any attempt he made at repeating them would be appreciated.

"Couldn't sleep."

House's voice was monotonous, and Wilson could almost see the barriers leaping up to surround his friend. He knew- had always known- that on these occasions, he couldn't push it and escape unscathed.

"How much do you remember?"

But he couldn't always help himself.

"I don't know."

"You don't know what was real?" Wilson continued to push, encouraged by the fact that House hadn't yet punched him in the face or stormed out; low expectations always seemed to help when trying to deal with House's emotions. House just looked at him, and Wilson took that to mean another, resounding-

"I don't know."

Wilson blinked in surprise as House spoke again; his willingness to reveal information and admit his uncertainty showing just how unsettled he was. Which part did he think was real?

"Do you remember hurting me?"

Wilson wasn't exactly sure what he was doing; was shamefully aware of the twinge of pleasure he got when House's eyes met his and there was fear in them that the other man so rarely displayed. He felt… wanted, and with House that was such a rarity he could do nothing but savour it.

"You didn't," Wilson clarified, as he noticed House's eyes lingering on his chest; concluding from that and House's behaviour the previous night that it had indeed been part of his dreams, "You thought you did."

House glared at him, angry with Wilson for messing with him for that brief moment; for making him believe that he had done something that he would truly regret.

Wilson opened his mouth, to ask his next question, but it caught in his throat at he considered the huge jump he was about to make. He was about to push the boundaries of his relationship with House; make irreparable changes to the only thing that kept him sane. And, paradoxically, the thing that came closest to driving him _in_sane. For a moment he paused, considering his own feelings and the painful stirring in his chest that had resulted from what House had said the previous night. House's confession had hurt him and thrilled him in a way he'd never even imagined, allowed him to finally entertain fantasies of actually achieving what he'd only recently realised he'd always wanted.

He considered House's feelings; had spent the night doing so and was still struggling to come to a conclusion. They had kissed; that much he was sure House could handle. The fact that it had, in fact, happened twice, both on occasions when House was convinced he was in his own little fictional world, would confuse and frustrate him, because he hadn't been in control and he hated that more than anything. The knowledge that he had confessed his… was it love? House had said that he _wanted_ to love him; suggesting that Wilson had to let him but possibly also that he had to let himself. And how much effort would it take for him to do that? How much effort would House be willing to make overall to make it work?

Because Wilson knew that, without a hell of a lot of effort; more than House had ever put in before, it wasn't going to work. Neither of them had either been with another man; House had admitted to having, on one occasion, a drunken fumble with another guy back in college, but nothing had come of it; they hadn't been_ together_, like Wilson was about to suggest. They were friends, close but with a distance they were going to have to overcome in order to love like they wanted, and although this didn't just apply to House (Wilson _really_ needed to say something to that new nurse in his department) Wilson was aware that he would be the more willing participant.

So he started small; knew that House was waiting for him to say something and that he would, eventually, have to explain.

"You don't remember that we kissed?"

House's eyes narrowed slightly; Wilson knew that he remembered at least one kiss, but if he'd been harbouring desires as deep and for as long as his earlier confession would suggest, he had probably imagined at least one.

"We kissed twice, House. The first time was pretty early on. You were convinced I wasn't real, by reasoning I'm sure I'll never understand. I told you that… you understood me."

"Understood what a fuck-up you really are," House echoed, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. This didn't surprise Wilson; in that particular scenario he had been the one to make the weightier confession, and House clearly felt that, since he'd been under the influence at the time, it wasn't something to trigger tremendous regret. Obviously he would rather it hadn't happened, but it was one of the better scenarios that had been swimming around in his head, since it basically alleviated him of responsibility for his actions.

"The second time…" Wilson paused again, aware that the reaction to this particular recollection was likely to be less than pleasant, since House clearly wasn't comfortable with the emotions he'd expressed, "You told me you cared about me. As more than a friend."

He saw House's eyes widen slightly, and moved closer, standing before House, his hands resting gently on House's legs, just above his knees, trying desperately to reassure him, to convince him that he'd done what was needed for the both of them to finally confront this.

"You _almost_ told me you loved me," Wilson continued, forcibly casual even though he wanted to scream and jump for joy at the very thought of House admitting that he loved him, "I believe your words were… that you _wanted _to love me."

House was staring evasively at the floor, evidently unsure of how to respond to not only the recollection of events but also the proximity of another human being while he was at his most vulnerable. He'd handed the reins to Wilson; allowed him to dictate, really, what was real and what wasn't and Wilson could see he was teetering on the brink of a drop that could be excruciatingly painful for both of them. Still, though, Wilson pressed on, watching House's expression intently for any sign that he was about to give in to the ever present urge to push him away, because he was too close and if he let people get close they'd hurt him like Stacey did. Wilson knew that he thought that; he'd always thought it, every time anybody had touched him in the last 5 years he'd rejected them because he couldn't get hurt like that again.

But Wilson wouldn't do that. He'd do anything to stop House from getting hurt, and more than anything he wanted House to understand that like he seemed to understand everything else about him. Strangely, everything except the most important thing in his life, because House was just too damn self-deprecating to believe that somebody else could care about him that much. Could love him, despite how little he loved himself.

"What did you mean by that?" Wilson continued, softly, desperate to know, "What's holding you back?"

House was silent; Wilson knew that if he was going to get any answers he had to do most of the work himself.

"Is it me?"

House's eyes, big and blue, looked up at him, finally, imploring, pleading.

"_I_ want you to love me. I want to be able… to hold you, to kiss you, to sleep beside you and… do my best to take away your pain."

Wilson's hand moved upwards, House not entirely sure what it was he was feeling as it only brushed his injured leg, continuing upward until Wilson's palm was flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat as it quickened from the contact and the words that touched him as much as anything ever had.

He was conflicted; he knew what he wanted but was aware that, goddamnit, he couldn't always get what he wanted. In fact, he rarely got what he wanted, and this… what he _wanted_ was to get closer to Wilson than anybody else and to let Wilson get closer to him, but… what he _needed_ was for Wilson to stay with him. He wasn't sure if he was good enough to make the risk of losing him… _worthwhile_.

Wilson could see it; could see House desperately fighting against something in himself and feel the doubt that resulted from it. He hadn't considered this; hadn't considered that House wouldn't _want_ to push it, even though they both wanted it, because he was so scared. Which was one reason why, he supposed, when he spoke, he said something that he must have known he'd regret.

"We had sex, House."

As House stared at him, unable to believe what he was hearing (to be honest, Wilson couldn't really believe it either, but desperation kept his expression constant), one word floated to the top of Wilson's consciousness.

_Fuck_.

End chapter:

_Well, I was going to make this the last chapter, but then I was suddenly overcome with an urge to make Wilson cry._

_And, yeah, that other insatiable urge to torture you all. Because I can._

_In reference to an earlier comment, I don't know what animal Wilson would be. Or Foreman. Which was why I only had the women. Is that because we can relate more to them, or because they're more two-dimensional?_

_Hmm…_


	8. Chapter 8

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

Start chapter:

"We…" House began, but found himself unable to complete the whole sentence.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Yeah."

Wilson nodded, hoping that House hadn't had the coherency to remember that they _hadn't_ while also, guiltily, needing to be found out before he took this too much further. Already he was in too deep to extricate himself without some serious damage control, and the longer House was convinced, the more difficult it would get. He didn't even know why he'd said it… well, he did know. He'd said it so House would think he'd already made a commitment and would be more likely to stay with him, but he didn't know how he'd managed to go sufficiently insane to believe that it would actually work.

House's eyes were lowered again, conflicting emotions crossing his expression as he considered the situation. Wilson watched him carefully, feeling almost unbearably guilty. _Almost_. Because it looked like it was working…

House had no idea what to think. He couldn't remember _anything_ like that, and usually he'd have at least some flashback when somebody mentioned something so significant. And it _was_ significant; in some way or other, Wilson was always on his mind, and the idea of not remembering their first time together saddened him somewhat. The fact that he _had_ forgotten; did it say something about him? Something about what a heartless bastard he really was, failing to remember what should have been the most memorable moment of his life. For a moment, he considered the chance that maybe it _hadn't_ happened, but why would Wilson lie about something like that? Why would he say it had happened if it didn't? Why would he mess with him like that, when he knew better than anyone how much it would affect him?

Guilt spiked through him at the thought, and hesitantly and shaking slightly, he reached up to place his hands on Wilson's shoulders, sliding them under his shirt and feeling bone and muscle underneath warm, soft skin and wondering desperately why he didn't remember anything. Wilson could see him struggling, could see his visible confusion and forcibly suppressed his guilt. This was best, best for both of them. He had to get House to _see_, to give in to him and let them both be happy, for a change.

And, slowly, hesitantly, since it would, actually, be the first kiss they shared that was recognised by both parties as a reality, Wilson reached out as well, carefully watching House's eyes for anything other than the uncertainty that sent pain stabbing through his chest, curved his fingers around House's neck and pulled him into a kiss. He met with no resistance, but there was no co-operation there either, and for a moment he had to wonder whether it had been the right move. House tensed, his fingers clenching into Wilson's shoulders, but Wilson pressed on, pushed forwards, kissing more desperately than he'd ever want to admit. This _had_ to be it, it just had to be. If House wasn't the one for him then everything he'd built his life on over the last 12 years was going to crack and break, and he was going to fall harder than he could ever imagine.

But then, that strange, unfamiliar hesitation painfully evident, House began to respond, his fingers slowly unclenching although he was still tense, still slightly guarded as he wrapped his arms around Wilson's waist. Wilson could feel himself being pulled closer, was momentarily unsure whether it was through conscious effort or just a subconscious desire on House's part, but dismissed it. Tried to stop the swirling rush of thoughts, pushing the guilt underneath the wave of sensation that he was all too willing to let himself drown in. He could feel House's chest against his, frustratingly clothed; soft, short hair between his fingers, could hear breathing that was as heavy as he knew his own must be, could taste… salt. Feel the wetness of tears; was he crying? He didn't think he'd been that… _oh, God._

"House?"

He was concerned, shocked, surprised, terrified that he'd done something bad enough to make _House_ cry. There was just something so wrong with that image; House is the strong one, or at least the one who appeared that way, and he was crying, silently, tears leaking from closed eyes, his arms still securely around Wilson's waist as he simply let them fall, unwilling to let go of something that's eluded him for so long. Wilson caught one of the droplets on the end of a finger, watching it trail slowly down the side of his hand before bringing his eyes up again once more to find House, eyes shining with tears. He'd never wanted to hug anyone more in his life, but he couldn't tear his own eyes away, couldn't bring himself to stop looking because the pain he felt was pain he deserved for causing this.

"House, what's wrong?"

When he spoke, it was almost in a whisper, as though they were sharing a secret. As though it would make what he was asking any less threatening to someone who was so scared of rejection. As though he hadn't known the answer before it was given.

"Why don't I remember?"

House's voice caught with emotion partway through the question, and Wilson realised suddenly- although he should have done sooner, since he'd been with House through so many years of drug abuse and addiction- that he was still crashing after the high of the past day. That he was dealing with more than just the revelation; long-hidden emotions combined with a natural depression and the pain that had to be returning to his leg by then. And Wilson had to tear himself away, had to stop seeing the pain in those eyes and threw himself into House's arms, holding back tears of his own as he buried his face in House's shoulder, clinging desperately.

"I'm so sorry," he said without thinking, having to release some of his emotions because if he didn't, he felt like his heart was going to explode. He felt House tense again, though, and knew that he definitely wasn't helping. He was making things worse than they already were, and he had to at least attempt to correct it.

"House, I…" he couldn't bring himself to look into confused blue eyes, instead remaining against House's shoulder, "I took advantage. You were high, I knew you were, but… you said those things, and I just couldn't stop myself. I've loved you for so long."

_Love_, that was good. House hated talking about emotions anyway, and one that intense would stop him from asking too much. He'd made it sound like it was _his_ fault, while alleviated House's guilt and made his own seem more convincing. He'd confessed his feelings, reducing House's feeling of responsibility.

He had to wonder just when he'd become so manipulative. But he couldn't let House leave him, he just couldn't. They couldn't just go back to the way they were before; it would be awkward, and difficult, and he wouldn't be able to face the other man without thinking about what they could have had. But he was getting deeper and deeper into this fabrication, and House wasn't stupid. He'd find out eventually… but eventually wasn't _now_. And Wilson couldn't suppress the hope in him that made him believe that maybe he could turn this into what House already thought it was without the other man noticing.

Yeah, right.

House was staring at him, he noticed suddenly, and Wilson forced himself to pull back to look him in the eye with an expression of genuine concern. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him…

"How long?" House asked.

Wilson's chest clenched painfully; he couldn't lie any more. And this was… this was just… _Ohh, damn it._

"Too long," he was evasive, he had to be, his defences springing up as he considered just how House could react to the revelation. The last thing he wanted to do was come to realise that this relationship was as distinctly one-sided as everybody else believed it to be.

"_How long_?"

House hated to repeat himself, Wilson knew that, and there was a warning tone in his voice that told him he'd better spill, or suffer the consequences. And Wilson knew House well enough to dread those consequences like nothing else.

"Since…" he paused, readying himself for the reaction, and completed his sentence in something of a higher pitch than usual, "About… the moment I met you?"

There was a pause, a horrible awkward pause that was so much worse than anything House could have said because at least that way he'd know. His expression was as unreadable as ever, and for a moment Wilson despaired of how he was ever going to turn this into anything remotely resembling a normal relationship.

"Everybody lies."

House was speaking to himself more than anything, but it hit Wilson deeper than anything he could possibly have said to him. What was he thinking, wanting a normal relationship with House? The issue of defining _normal_ aside, normal was boring. Normal was the three marriages that had failed dismally. Normal just plain wouldn't work with the man in front of him, the man who had captivated him from that moment they first laid eyes on each other, although he hadn't realised it until later. The man who had attracted him by being something Wilson had always been too scared to be with anyone else. _Himself_. Honest; brash and crude and sometimes just a little too rude, but with a heart hidden so deep it was difficult to spot with anything but a trained eye. And Wilson had two of those.

House was scared, scared of letting Wilson in, scared of pushing him away and ending up truly alone, but those things scared Wilson too. Whatever the problems were, they'd get through it. And by God, they were going to get through it together, because Wilson wasn't letting this one go. This wasn't _new_, not really. The physical aspects were, sure, but the emotions… maybe they'd always been there, but they'd just been too scared to see them. So why would this have to make such a big difference?

"Not a lie, as such. More a… failure to mention. What can I say, it never came up in conversation."

And there it was; small and almost undetectable, a small smile graced House's lips, finally. Wilson had convinced himself that this was natural, that this was… _normal_, as much as he hated to use the word. And it was reassuring. Because normal wasn't threatening.

"And to think, you could have saved all that money on weddings."

House's voice was the same as usual, the comment not quite as witty as usual but still almost passing for offensive.

"Not to mention alimony." Wilson added

"Hotels…" House continued the list, and Wilson couldn't help but smile as he felt a rush of affection for the other man. He leaned forwards, resting his forehead against House's. Not pushing anything, just allowing them to adjust to the proximity that they knew wasn't just physical.

"This can work, you know," he said, smiling slightly, only having to force some of the casual tone in his voice.

His smile widened as House replied, eyes bloodshot from his earlier tears but sparkling like Wilson hadn't seen in such a long time.

"I know."

End chapter

_Oh em eff gee, I'm updating._

_I know, I know. Ridiculously long wait for a sub-par chapter. The real world has been clawing at me for the last couple of weeks, trying to persuade me to succeed in life, or something. Still, I think I've got my flow back now… although I have developed another unhealthy hospital based interest in the form of JD and Dr Cox. That shouldn't be as sexy as we all know it is._

_Sometimes I think I'd like to be a doctor. But then I remember that I can't really stand the sight of blood, and I hate being around sick people._

_Does anyone read these and think, _Okay I was going to review until I read this and realised I hate this person_? But then if you did, I suppose you wouldn't tell me._

_Well, life goes on._


	9. Chapter 9

_Summary: House is so much easer to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

**OoOoO**

Wilson felt, rather than heard, the sound of surprise that escaped his throat as, edging backwards guided by House, who just didn't seem able to completely let him go, even if it would have made it so much easier to just get to the goddamn bed, his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell backwards, something in his subconscious stopping him from grabbing onto House to stop himself. He looked up, feeling suddenly more vulnerable as House, taller than him even when they were both upright, stood for a moment before him, taking the image in. Self-consciousness, which Wilson felt so rarely with anyone else, threatened to overcome him, and he had to look away, flushing under the scrutiny. He just couldn't help it; every look from House felt like it was searching his soul for things he tried so hard to keep hidden.

Wilson almost jumped as a soft touch grazed his chest, and it was with a pang of guilt that he realised that the way he was acting could be misconstrued as regret. And, only a moment ago, _he_ had been the one doing the reassuring. He'd been so sure, until House had to touch him like that and terrify him with the intensity of it all. With difficulty, he met House's eyes once more, seeing the confusion in them and trying to convey his own feelings wordlessly, for fear of ruining the moment.

"What's wrong?"

Of course, House cared nothing for the moment, agonising though it was. Wilson took a deep breath to steady himself, surprised to realise that he was shaking.

"I… sorry, this still… feels kinda weird."

"Why?"

House urged Wilson to shift backwards, wincing slightly as his leg objected to the movement required to join him on the bed, sitting beside him although a hand lingered on Wilson's stomach, unwilling to let him go completely. Wilson felt his heart ache as the other man, finally willing to show just how much he cared, made such an effort for him. The stab of guilt that followed, though, instilled doubt once more, and he had to resist the urge not to shy away from the adorably gentle touch that lowered to his thigh as House noticed his unease. Goddamnit, he didn't know how House dealt with being the bad guy all the time. Although the usual lack of human emotions probably helped.

"I just… House, you're all I've got. What if something happens, and things get… awkward? I don't wanna lose you."

If Wilson had been able to bring himself to look up and meet House's eyes, he would have seen a combination of amusement and empathy that might have made his heart explode from the pure emotion of it all. Since he kept his eyes firmly on House's carpet, though, the harsh tone in the other man's voice made him wonder for a moment if he'd gone too far and ruined it all already.

"I've known you for twelve years. You've seen me at my worst. My _best_ sends most people running screaming to the nearest long-distance airport."

At that, though, Wilson couldn't help but smile. Looking up to meet blue eyes that held emotions he'd wanted House to feel for so long, he tugged on the front of the other man's shirt to pull him into a quick kiss, unable to express himself in words. House, though, hadn't quite finished speaking. He wanted this, and he needed Wilson to understand because three divorces was enough to make anyone feel insecure about a new relationship that, if damaged, could destroy even their existing friendship. And they both needed this.

"You're scared. _I'm_ scared. Not as scared as you. You think that you're going to invest more in this than I am. You think that maybe I won't understand, and we'll do things we regret, and we'll get some prostitute pregnant and have to adopt her baby, or something. But we won't. I don't think I can do anything that's worse than what I've already done. And I know you, better than you think I do. Well enough to know that if you're not the one, or whatever they're calling it these days, I might as well just end it now, because… I just said that. For you."

And so, Wilson asked the question that had been on his mind all evening. Because if House answered correctly, then he'd know this really meant something.

"Can we just… take a night to get used to this?"

"You want to cuddle." House deadpanned, and Wilson flushed. He hated that word. Couldn't bring himself to say it because he knew how much of a woman he sounded. But he really needed some time to get used to it; surely House would understand.

"Wilson, if you're gonna tell me that you're actually a woman, I think now's the time to do it."

Wilson just looked at him, clearly unimpressed. House, after a moment, just smiled, leaned in, kissed him. And left for the bathroom to get changed. The younger man sighed; obviously House was a little upset by what Wilson knew he'd see as a rejection, but it'd surely be better stopping now than later when everything but Wilson's mind was ready.

Images of the situation sprung uninvited into Wilson's head, and suddenly a realisation that had been drifting at the back of his consciousness all night decided to hit him full force.

_He _was going to be the bottom.

_Shit, shit, shit._

And House thought he'd done it before.

_Fuck._

He groaned out loud, bringing his knees up to his chest to wrap his arms around them. He was so screwed.

"You alright?"

House, curious, concerned, joined him once more. Wilson just worried about how much House's leg was going to affect the proceedings. Proceedings? Oh, God, he was slowly convincing himself that this sex thing was an obligation. He actually _was_ the woman.

Slowly, he began to undress himself, aware that House was watching him but stopping himself from wondering whether it was through concern or general interest, and slid into bed. His bed… _their_ bed. God, he was sharing House's bed with him, and the other man was climbing in beside him, with more difficulty than Wilson had ever imagined.

"Is your leg alright?" he'd asked, without even thinking, turning to face House, who was looking right back with narrowed eyes.

"Oh, good. You remembered that I'm still here, watching you have a crisis, in a position to actually listen for a change."

Wilson sighed. Yeah, House was upset. He was also in more pain than he should be; now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen that familiar orange bottle the whole time he'd been there.

"Your leg?" he repeated, aware that, even if they both sat up all night, he still wouldn't have finished explaining his confusion and they both had work tomorrow. And this was familiar; concern about House and physical pain he was used to.

"Is fine." House finished the sentence for him, bluntly, and, those eyes once more closed off and devoid of emotion, he rolled over to face the wall, leaving Wilson to hate himself.

"I just need some time to sort this out in my head." Wilson sighed, staring up at the ceiling, suddenly aware of just how awake he was and how much it hurt that House was clearly ignoring him. He felt like Wilson didn't trust him when he'd just opened himself up, completely, and expected him to do the same, "House. House, c'mon. Don't do this."

His plea met with only silence, though, and Wilson suppressed the urge to ask whether sleeping on his right side like that was going to hurt House's leg. Again, he sighed, wondering just why this was so difficult. It had always been so easy with everybody else, to turn them from _just friends_ into lovers or even wives. But then maybe that was it. When he was with women, he couldn't help but have those intentions, but with House… he just wanted him to _stay_.

"Oh for God's sake, what?"

House was facing him again, looking frustrated. Wilson supposed he should probably stop sighing if he was trying to convince the other man that he really was fine. He bit his lip, vowing to be quiet. If House could deal with this, then so could he. He'd just take it one step at a time. Slowly, his eyes asking permission, he reached out a hand, threaded his fingers through House's. Smiled slightly.

"Okay?" House asked with more venom than he'd actually intended, glad that Wilson felt guilty enough to ignore it.

Wilson nodded. If he couldn't quite manage trust in House himself, he could at least trust House's pride. This was between the two of them, he knew, because if House said anything, whatever Wilson said in retaliation would be so much worse.

"Great. Go to sleep."

Wilson wasn't tired, but House was watching him, and he knew he'd keep watching him until he submitted. Unwillingly, and feeling the self-consciousness that House was obviously trying to avoid by getting Wilson to sleep first, he closed his eyes, trying to relax. Trying to trust, and sleep. After a few moments he risked a peek at House, and found the other man watching him with an expression that made his heart melt and his guilt redouble.

"Okay, that's sweet but slightly unsettling," he admitted, "Can you… please stop watching me?"

"Can you go to sleep?" House retorted, although the venom was gone, and he managed a small smile that Wilson gladly returned before removing his hand from House's. Hurt flashed momentarily through the amused expression House was trying desperately to keep up, but his smile broadened once more as Wilson moved in closer to kiss him. He didn't understand the other man's mood swings; he was confused by the mixed signals that Wilson was sending out, but every smile made his chest ache and every kiss… God, he felt like a teenaged girl. Wilson kissed him and he immediately forgave him for anything and his brain was telling him that it was a mistake; that this had happened before and he'd been betrayed.

But he couldn't deny himself what he'd wanted for so long. Even if said object had just distracted him with a kiss and was currently doing something that closely resembled cuddling. House rolled his eyes at Wilson's admittedly cute but slightly frustrating womanly attitude, and at his own body's instinctive urge to hold the other man close, because he was finally relaxing, breathing evening out. It was like comforting a child. Except for the imminent sex.

Great, now he'd freaked himself out. He resisted the urge to sigh, since he'd just gained experience about how annoying that was when you were trying to sleep.

Goddamn Wilson, getting to him like that. Still, after all those years, maybe he deserved it.

Yup. That was the only reason he wasn't pushing him away.

OoOoO 

_I know, I know. This chapter didn't actually go anywhere at all, and in fact just repeated in slightly more detail exactly what happened in the last chapter. Writers' block hit me particularly hard this time. They just won't do what I want them to! Stop putting off the damn sex, Wilson!_

_House doesn't sound like Dr Cox, does he?_

_New series equals love! I love how cute Wilson is when he's trying to stand up for himself._

_London Expo's soon. Anyone going? No?_


	10. Chapter 10

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're hallucination. HW slash._

**OoOoO**

"I won't be able to touch you all day."

That had been House's excuse, and although Wilson had rolled his eyes initially, it was all he could do to hold back a whimper as House kissed down his chest, stubble grazing while lips touched him so softly he wanted to cry. God, he'd dreamt about it; House's emotions had shown themselves on rare occasions and Wilson had occasionally indulged in a fantasy where House would actually act like he cared, but in reality it was almost overwhelming. And he felt so awful for being the one to make less effort. Guilt and arousal swirled inside him, tinges of fear confusing him even more as House's hands came to rest on his hips, on the waistband of his underwear. The other man obviously felt him tense, though, because with a final kiss to his stomach he moved upwards once more, claiming Wilson's mouth with a little more intensity than before. He was frustrated, Wilson knew that, but he couldn't force anything. So he kissed back, channelling his own emotions into a deep, wet kiss he could never have imagined enjoying before. But this was House, and suddenly every touch set him on fire again; the feeling of a warm, desperate tongue in his mouth encouraging him rather than making him feel squeamish. And it made him want more, so much more, but fear held him back. Even as he traced lines over House's shoulders with his fingernails, making the other man shiver, pull him closer, the feeling of a solid, breastless chest against Wilson's alien to him but more amazing than he could possibly have imagined. There was none of the softness, were none of the curves he was so accustomed to, but it just made it so much more fascinating to explore. The muscles in his neck and back, the short but ever so soft hair he could run his fingers through as he tried desperately to bring them closer together.

As House bit his lip a little harder than was entirely necessary, Wilson felt his groin tingle impatiently, willing his heart and mind to catch up with it and just let House take him, for God's sake. He whimpered softly, unable to keep from grinding upwards into the light pressure House's good leg was placing on him, and immediately flushed as he realised just how fucking pathetic it must have seemed, reacting to what, essentially, was just House kissing him. He was rewarded, though, as House moved a hand downwards to caress him softly, through material, so scared of pushing things. Wilson's breath caught in his throat as House kissed him softly, reassuringly, before withdrawing, eyes asking for permission Wilson couldn't help but give. God, he felt helpless, just laying here while House took over completely, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything else as the sensation overtook his brain. It had been far too long since anyone had simply devoted themselves to him, and he'd return the favour later. As soon as he regained enough bodily function to do more than simply wordlessly encourage, tilting his head to allow House better access to his neck, which he was suckling softly, and pushing his hips up, trying to encourage more friction because although he didn't want House to push him, it didn't mean he was going to break.

"You shouldn't start something you can't finish," House murmured in his ear, though, pausing for a moment to let the message sink in. As it did, though, Wilson came to a rather unsavoury realisation.

"I'm messing with you, aren't I?"

House laughed, and God, it hurt to hear the bitterness in it.

"To put it bluntly."

"God, I'm just so confused. I want you. I want to be with you. But… I'm scared."

Wilson said, knew he'd said it and other things that amounted to it so many times before, but House just didn't seem to get it! Didn't seem to understand that this could destroy both of them if it went wrong.

"Why?"

And the question just proved it further. How could he even have to ask?

"Three marriages, House! I've screwed up before, what if I lose you too?"

House's derisive snort, unsurprisingly, didn't make him feel all that much better, and neither did his comment,

"Never thought you'd be the insecure one."

"House, come on!" Wilson's tone was a little harsher than he'd intended; House actually flinched, or at least blinked in surprise, and barely even realising what he was doing, he raised a hand to touch House's cheek. Spoke again, softer, "Imagine losing _me_…"

"I wouldn't let that happen."

A confident comment, but a softer expression that betrayed how he really felt. Wilson reached up to kiss him softly.

"No, I guess you wouldn't."

He let his fingers linger on House's cheek, and was rewarded with another kiss. Knew that he'd be made to pay later for forcing House to be so soft, but somehow didn't mind all that much. He loved to be the one to put that almost-smile on House's face. To… make that difference.

"This doesn't have to be difficult." House told him, for the nth time.

"I'm sorry."

That guilt again.

"Hey. Come on. Where would I be without my greatest puzzle?"

Wilson hid his surprise as best he could as House brushed a stray strand of hair from where it threatened to fall into his eyes. Well, sort of. Hesitantly, his hand actually shaking with the effort his own mental objection was forcing him to make, he touched vaguely at said strand, eyes averted all the while.

Still, Wilson knew better than to show just how much he appreciated the effort. He said nothing, not that there would have been any point attempting to put exactly how he was feeling into words, because they would have been there all night. He seemed to have been feeling like that a lot lately. Possibly something to do with the fact he was lying to his best friend, with whom he'd been desperately in love for years, and they were about to make the biggest jump in the history of their friendship.

Yeah. Maybe that was it.

_Damnit._

**OoOoO**

_What is __**wrong**__ with me? Why can't I write? It's been almost a month! I'm sorry! You got a little bit of action, though, and there __**will**__ be progression in the next chapter. Whenever I get that one up._

_Have been trying not to use as many semicolons. Now I'm scared to use them even when they're supposed to be there. _

_Does anyone else think that Wilson should stop procrastinating and get to the damn sex?_

_And put out more in the fanfiction, too._


	11. Chapter 11

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

**OoOoO**

House was in pain.

Hardly a change, most people would have thought, but for some reason it was so much worse than usual. Well, the _some reason_ was the crash from whatever the hell he'd been on for almost two days. Probably a combination of things… and they were all hitting him at once. The idea of Vicodin called to him, but he knew he couldn't take it. Could hear Wilson's voice in his head warning him against it, telling him it'd only be worse if he put it off. Had given the other man the bottle just that morning because he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back. So he sat in his office, behind his desk, iPod playing next to him as he desperately tried to focus on something other than the pain. His finger clawed into the skin, as though he could rip the offending nerve endings out and be done with it, and he told himself that it helped, even though his hands were beginning to cramp with the effort. He savoured the feeling, though, relished the distraction.

They had no cases. He had no clinic duty. There was nothing to do. Wilson was busy taking care of his backlog of paperwork, while Cameron had done the little House had.

The lack of clinic duty was good; his pride made him hide his pain from strangers, and that was never good. And he doubted he would have been able to focus on a case, but at least it would have started his brain working. Would have given him something else to think about.

His ducklings had been less than helpful as usual. Foreman had rolled his eyes, Cameron had looked concerned. House had been unable to focus, seeing and hearing only the bunny from his hallucinations.

What would Foreman be if he was an animal?

Chase had to be something Australian. A koala? Kangaroo?

A wallaby. Like a kangaroo, only cuter. Cameron would simper unbearably.

But Foreman? Much harder to pin down. A crow? Always watching…

A black bear? No, that was racist…

And what about Wilson?

A marmot. House suppressed a snort of laughter; Wilson was nothing like a marmot. He just liked the word. The pain was beginning to make him hysterical, it seemed. God, it hurt. And nobody really understood just _how much_, how constant and agonising it was to live like he did!

"You alright?"

Ah, there was Chase. House hadn't seen him all morning. Whether or not he had been there when House walked through the door was something he didn't feel capable of guessing, but he'd been somewhat preoccupied with a feeling akin to a thousand sharp objects being embedded and twisted in his leg. He gave Chase a dark look in answer to his question, a soft snort from the other man acknowledging the stupidity of the question.

"You need a prescription?"

House knew without lifting his eyes that Chase was surprised by the lack of Vicodin.

"Wilson's got it," he managed to say through gritted teeth, could imagine the doubtful look on Chase's face. He glared half-heartedly and Chase, good, sweet Chase, didn't push it. It was so obvious who'd been working for him the longest.

"Need a massage?"

Okay, not _that_ long. Although, thinking about it, he probably didn't mean that he be the one to give it. Pushing himself to think a little further, he realised that this was an opportunity that no amount of pain should cause him to pass up. He looked up, smirked and tried to ignore the slight crease of sympathy between Chase's eyes.

"Wilson's got it."

Chase smiled, obviously glad that his boss was well enough to make an attempt at humour. Still, he was obviously in agony. But what was he supposed to do about it? If he tried anything, he'd get abuse thrown at him. The only way to win, in House's terms, would be to walk away. But then, against his will, he'd spend the whole day worrying. So what to do?

House let his eyes drift closed again, trying to hold himself back from screwing them shut against the pain. Not in front of Chase. Chase, despite himself, respected him. And he didn't want to lose that too because of this fucking leg.

Hang on. What was that? There was some, strange pressure on his shoulder. If he didn't know any better, he'd think… Oh God. Chase was still there, standing beside him with a hand on his shoulder. Emanating those vibes of _caring _House noticed so often coming from the direction of Wilson's office. Still. It wasn't so bad. At least the poor guy hadn't tried to hug him or anything. House might have just bitten his head off. He wanted to, though, House could tell. His father complex meant he couldn't want anything else, but he'd managed to hold himself back for House's sake. It was slightly touching, and House was surprised to find just how much he appreciated it.

"Thanks," he bit out, and felt Chase jump from the shock. Still, the younger man knew what was best for him, and just how far House was willing to take this, and he withdrew his hand without a fuss.

"If you need anything…" he offered. House nodded his acknowledgement even though they both knew nothing would come of it. House wouldn't ask Chase for help; there was nothing he could do that Wilson, or even Cuddy couldn't do better. Still, the offer was worth something, right?

_Yeah, right._ Chase sighed as he left the room.

House was alone again. Aww. Chase was alright, really. Poor sap. Cameron was going to tear him apart one day.

God, his leg hurt.

He missed Wilson. Where was he, anyway? Office? Patient? He couldn't be bothered to deal with a patient. He'd have to think of something witty to say and his brain was too busy screaming.

"House?"

That… that was Wilson's voice, wasn't it?

"House, are you alright? Chase told me you looked pretty bad."

Wilson knelt before him, forced his hands away from his thigh and replaced them with his own, massaging softly. Flexing his fingers in an attempt to get some feeling back into them, House leaned forward, letting his head drop onto Wilson's shoulder, beyond caring who saw.

"I love Chase," he muttered, glad that he hadn't been the one to give in and go looking for his friend.

"Right. He's a little young for you. Or should I say, you're a little old for _him_."

House could hear the smile in Wilson's voice and couldn't help but return the gesture slightly. And those hands on his thigh gave him something else to dwell on, even if he would prefer them to be a little higher and for Wilson to be kissing him.

"That helps. Stay all day?"

He loved that he could see Wilson wishing for it as much as he did. And the way that, after a quick glance at the closed blinds, the other man leaned forwards to kiss him. It was strange how he just seemed so much more comfortable at work. Although, House supposed, the threat –was it really a threat? That just seemed so negative- of sex was lessened when they stood less chance of getting privacy. But what was it about that that made him so nervous? Was it that big a step? And surely, if they'd done it before… although admittedly the circumstances had been a little different that time. House just… wanted to be close to him. To enjoy him like nobody else got to. And, okay, to _own_ him. Because Wilson was his and only his and maybe he wanted him, and possibly anyone who might constitute a threat, to know that.

Wilson felt the arm House was snaking around his waist tighten its grip possessively, and frowned curiously, wondering about House's thoughts. The other man obviously noticed his hesitation, and spoke to distract him.

"Want lunch?"

House obviously didn't feel comfortable discussing it, but that wasn't why Wilson's frown deepened.

"House… it's half past ten."

The pained groan House let out made Wilson's chest ache, his expression creasing sympathetically as the older man's head dropped back onto his shoulder with more resignation than before. And Wilson knew that he could do nothing more than lessen the pain slightly for the brief period he had between appointments. He had been planning on catching up, initially, but when Chase had actually made the effort to fetch him, he knew he could do that later. He'd done the most urgent ones already.

"It kills me to see you like this," he said, quietly, one hand on House's thigh while the other rubbed his side, unable to quite reach his back with the position they were in.

"Not nearly as much as it'll kill me to have my liver fail."

"House!"

Wilson shrugged his shoulder, urging House to sit up so he could glare at him properly. Okay, so he was in pain but that had just been unnecessary. Not to mention upsetting. Because House _was_ killing himself, slowly, and it was something Wilson lived in constant denial of, so scared of losing him.

House sighed. He recognised that look. He'd gone too far, as usual, but what Wilson didn't seem to understand was that he wanted to take his pills more than anything; that he'd _do_ anything to stop the pain for even a few minutes because even though it varied in degrees, it was always there, a ceaseless nagging pain that drove him to more extremes than he cared to recollect. He didn't want to _kill _himself, but some of his methods just happened to send him in that direction. The only reason he held back at all was because of Wilson, because he knew that the other man needed him. Which was exactly why he wasn't taking his damn Vicodin despite the agony he was in. He knew he couldn't stop taking it completely, but if he cut down… maybe he'd get that extra time, those extra years, months, even weeks with the man he loved.

"Sorry," he acquiesced, though, knew that Wilson was suffering too. Let his head drop again, felt Wilson switch hands to stroke his hair. The right hand on his thigh was a little clumsy, but so much better than the nothing that had lasted for the past hour and a half. The touch gave him something else to focus on, and as such he groaned softly as a hesitant knock at the door made Wilson turn to see who it was, ministrations ceasing momentarily.

"It's Chase. You want anything?" Wilson spoke quietly in his ear, smiling slightly at Chase, who stood just inside the door, watching them with a strange expression on his face. Although, considering the fact that Wilson was kneeling in between House's legs with a hand on his upper thigh, that wasn't exactly surprising. House's lack of movement from the unusually affectionate position served to prove just how much pain he was in.

"I just want it to stop," House's voice was quiet enough that only Wilson could hear, but the way the younger man's expression tightened with emotion gave Chase an idea of what was being said.

Sighing, a little hesitant and with a quick sideways glance in Chase's direction, Wilson said the only thing he could think of in the lowest tone he could manage.

"Tonight. I'll make it stop."

House's narrowed his eyes curiously, taking a moment to look at the other man, expression guarded and calculating. Wilson looked back, sincere, concerned, his hand drifting a little higher so fingertips ghosted over House's groin. He meant it, at that moment, truly he did. He'd do anything in his power to stop House's pain for any length of time.

And House nodded, although he closed his eyes against the fresh wave of pain that overtook him. He understood. Wilson was giving him a target, something to look forward to and an incentive not to try any of his other, more inventive methods of pain management. And he thought he could get through it.

Then again, he'd thought it was at least midday. So what did he know?

**OoOoO**

Wilson wished he could stop the nervous feeling that settled in his stomach the moment he walked through the door to House's apartment and the knowledge that they were alone hit him. No hiding, no excuses. Just him and House, and he wasn't entirely sure he could deal with this entirely new level of scrutiny he'd felt ever since their relationship had… progressed.

Especially when that nervousness collided and combined with guilt and arousal he'd always done his best to deny. But every touch from House made him crave more from the other man, and his body acted accordingly. So when, as they stepped through the door, House had shoved him up against the wall and kissed him like it was the thing he wanted most in the world, he had been unable to stop himself from responding, arching and groaning like a fucking high school girl. He just wished that House didn't somehow know exactly what he wanted all the time, that he wasn't always so damn _intense_ and flatteringly but nerve-wrenchingly focused on providing Wilson with the affection he'd always wanted. It would just make it so much easier to resist the urge to dig himself deeper into this lie.

House pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and it was all Wilson could do in his state of incoherence to grab the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket before the first item of his clothing hit the floor.

"You want?" he offered, breathlessly as he was still recovering from being winded as his back hit the door, _hard_.

"No."

For a moment, Wilson thought he'd misheard. But House continued, taking the bottle and tossing it aside as he began to work at Wilson's shirt buttons.

"I want to feel… this. You. It'll numb that too."

Guilt throbbed at the back of Wilson's conscience. House was willing to go through so much for him, and how had he thanked him? By lying about what should have been a huge milestone in their relationship. God, he hated himself and he should really start returning a certain favour, since his shirt was joining his jacket on the floor and House was still fully clothed. It was okay. It was all okay, House loved him and he loved House and _oh, God_ that mouth around his nipple felt amazing. And it was only going to get better, right?

They reached the bed without major incident, although House almost tripping over the Vicodin bottle he'd discarded only moments ago caused them both to dissolve into breathless giggles, House privately thrilled by how much it seemed to relax the other man. This was just… a natural progression. And he had to make Wilson understand that.

They both paused, for a moment, spontaneously and simultaneously, though, as Wilson felt the edge of the bed against the back of his legs for the second time that day. And for a moment they just looked at each other, that unspoken connection between them letting them both know that this was going to be the moment that would forever change what they had together. Slowly, they drifted into a kiss, a simple gesture of affection that was so much more; Wilson's an apology for all he'd done and had yet to do, and House's a promise that, no matter what, they'd always have this. Each other.

Wilson allowed himself to continue backwards, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at this amazing, brilliant man and truly believing that he'd do anything for him. That he'd let him… Oh, God, he had to get the porn images he'd looked at for reference out of his head. House was going to physically prove his love in a gesture of closeness that surpassed all else he'd ever experienced.

One of his female patients read some really strange books. Books that clearly weren't familiar with the reality of men and the prospect of sex between them and the amount of body hair they actually had. Although, House sensing his unease and being strangely patient was… nice. Warm hands were stroking his hair, and even if he could feel them shaking from pain and drug withdrawal, he was grateful for the affection. God, he'd missed that. The affection, not the drug withdrawal. It had just been so long since somebody had actually _cared_, and spent some time simply devoting themselves to the act of showing him just how much.

And he welcomed it, embraced it, even, as he allowed himself to reach for the other man, wrapping his arms around House's neck and refusing to let go despite how difficult it made it to manoeuvre their way into a more suitable position. Well, slightly more suitable; Wilson was certainly comfortable, and he had easy access to House's shirt, which he quickly pulled off, but House was obviously struggling slightly with the pain in his leg and Wilson switched their places, initiating a soft kiss and loving the feeling of House melting against him, glad of some genuine reciprocation. The kiss continued as Wilson explored, curious about his new dominance and the differences between this and his past, rather more _female_ experiences, running gentle fingers over soft skin and wiry chest hair, encountering nipples in that strangely flat area and taking a moment to touch and squeeze and watch as House squirmed helplessly beneath him.

Well, not _quite_ helplessly, since those hands at his waistband were endeavouring to remove what remained of his clothing, and Wilson found he was all too glad to let them. He felt like he'd fallen too far in to stop; like he was drowning in sensation and he didn't quite have the willpower left to fight the current. In fact, the only action he seemed to be able to muster was complete and utter submission; kicking the material that had been bunched around his legs aside and drawing House back into a rough kiss, seeking to distract himself from the exploration that was occurring in a particular area of his body that he didn't quite feel comfortable with. In fact, he was feeling what bordered on incredible _discomfort_, and he was glad for a change that House always knew exactly what he was thinking, and slowed a little. He rubbed Wilson's back, inducing soft shivers he felt in his own body and desperately seeking to get Wilson used to feeling the submissive.

He knew Wilson's main problem was a lack of confidence; with each marriage he'd had a part of his self-esteem torn irreparably out, and by utilising his dominance he had previously been able to distract his partner from his self-perceived faults. But that wasn't an option in this situation; there was no way House was letting him have all the fun. Not when he knew all the _really_ attractive things about the other man. The way he whimpered softly when he was pleasantly surprised, the soft smile he reserved only for those moments they were otherwise alone, or when he lost himself in the moment enough to forget that they weren't. The smell of his aftershave, his shampoo, the feeling of his heartbeat quickening against House's tongue as he lapped at the pulse point behind his ear. All _so_ cute, so endearing and reserved for House and House alone.

They'd shared everything else, in the long, long time they'd spent together, and House wanted nothing more than to share this moment, this final act with him. Which was why, even though his heart felt a stab of pain as Wilson tensed against him, he continued, doing his best to inure Wilson to the strangeness of the sensation that was having somebody else exploring his insides. And, after a few agonising minutes, he began to feel the signs of success he'd been waiting for. Wilson's breathing became a little less laboured, his fingernails digging a little less painfully into House's arms, he began to relax, burying his face in House's neck as he fought the urge to push the intrusion out. House knew what he was doing, though, had done some research especially and, thanking whichever gene was responsible for his long fingers, began to push towards-

"Fuck!" Wilson tensed again, undeniably flinching away from the contact as a wave of… well he didn't know what it was, exactly, a wave of _sensation_ shot through him. And God, it hurt.

"Too hard?"

House's expression creased in apology, the question rhetorical as he already knew the answer. He could feel short, sharp breaths against his neck, used his free hand to rub as soothingly as possible, given his awkward angle, at Wilson's side.

"How often do you cut your nails?" Wilson had to ask, eyes screwed shut against this new fear and the scrambled mess his thoughts had become.

"I _am_ a doctor, you know."

"One who's clearly never given a prostate exam…"

House couldn't help but snort in amusement, and felt Wilson reciprocate, albeit weakly, "Okay, fine. They tap on the piano keys if they're too long."

And he felt Wilson smile against his neck, was unable to deny the rush of emotion that accompanied the feeling. He shifted his shoulder, urged Wilson to support his own damn weight and look at him. Wilson did as he was bid, feeling his cheeks grow that bit hotter as House stared unabashedly at him for a moment, taking in that gorgeous flush, his mussed hair, dark eyes and, annoyingly, his all-too-evident embarrassment at being under such scrutiny.

"I love you." House had to say it, suddenly realising just how true it was. He couldn't imagine life without Wilson, and he didn't want to. Especially when that smile, that beautiful smile, was so close and just _asking_ to be kissed.

Wilson let himself be drawn into an embrace, meeting House's lips and having a realisation of his own. He loved House, and he _wanted_ this. And that was precisely why he couldn't do it.

House frowned, hearing nothing of the sentence Wilson mumbled brokenly, interrupted every other second by kisses, and forced himself to establish that small distance between them because, whatever it was, it was obviously something the other man needed to say.

"What?" House urged quietly, trying to read Wilson's suddenly strangely evasive behaviour.

"I said… I lied. We didn't have sex."

There was a pause. A long, long, awkward and agonising pause during which House just stared at the man he loved, or _through_ him, clearly struggling to understand. And then House moved away, Wilson wondering vaguely when he'd grown used enough to that finger inside him to feel regret at its loss, stood up, grabbed his shirt, and limped from the room. Moments later, Wilson heard the sound of keys being snatched up from where House had thrown them carelessly on their way in, and the sound of their front door slamming. _House's_ front door slamming.

Wilson sighed. _Yep_, that had been the moment he'd waited for.

What the hell was he going to do?

**OoOoO**

_Well, I've just succeeded in putting off the sex even more than anybody thought possible. Fan-bloody-tastic._

_Hope it's alright; the wait was long but so's the chapter._


	12. Chapter 12

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

**OoOoO**

Once more, with the new turn of events adding to his already lengthy list of concerns, all strangely stemming from that single one, Wilson found himself lying awake until his phone's alarm went off. He'd wanted desperately to talk to House before the agony of a day at work began, but he hadn't come home. Wilson showered, only noticing afterwards that the only bottle he had picked up was one of shampoo, and made only coffee because he didn't trust himself to cook.

Over and over again he rephrased his apology in his mind, aware the whole time that House wouldn't appreciate something so clearly rehearsed, but unable to stop himself. Really, there was nothing to say except that he was sorry. The only issue was whether House was going to forgive him; something no amount of tact would change. And yet, the whole journey to work, he couldn't stop himself thinking about what he was going to say.

And, of course, House was avoiding him. Wilson worked distractedly for 3 hours, hoping afterwards that he'd managed to retain at least a semblance of the concern he usually had for his patients. Nobody commented on his appearance or attitude, although members of staff and patients alike gave him concerned looks as he passed them in the halls.

He suppressed the urge to go searching for House, knowing that he could come and find him when he was ready to talk about it. By lunchtime, though, it was torturing him more than ever, the simple ambiguity of it all so much worse than even the least favourable certainty.

So he went searching. Cameron, in the diagnostics office doing House's paperwork, looked incredibly concerned about him for the full five seconds it took for him to ask if she'd seen House that day, successfully redirecting her attention. Wilson reassured her as best he could, given that he didn't actually care about anything in that moment as much as he cared about finding House. After a few minutes, during which he conveniently failed to mention the fact that House, feeling depressed after 18 hours of agonising pain, might just take an overdose just to make it all stop, he managed to convince her to stay put, _out of his way_, although he didn't say the last part.

Or at least he thought he didn't. Five minutes later he couldn't remember _what_ he'd said. And he didn't really care. He found Foreman playing backgammon with some interns, his wallet straining with the bulk of his winnings. He didn't know, or care, where House was. Wilson thought he was being a touch too dismissive, but didn't push it. He settled instead for asking where Chase was, since he'd been pretty helpful on the previous day and Wilson knew that, to a certain extent, he cared about House as well. Checking the clinic roster, he found Chase's name showing he was in exam room 3. He glanced up, though, as the door to said room swung open and a woman left hurriedly, blushing furiously.

Well, that cut out a step in his plan. Wilson crossed the waiting room, avoiding the eyes of waiting patients because they could always sense the weakness of a busy doctor, and quietly entered the room.

House looked up, ready to send a scathing comment in the direction of the patient who had interrupted his precious few seconds of peace. He froze, though, upon realising, then sighed and looked down at the floor. He was sitting on the examination chair, sideways on and legs dangling, repeatedly picking his cane up a few inches off the floor and dropping it again, watching as the rubber ferrule made it bounce slightly.

"Where's Chase?" Wilson broke the silence, after 6 cycles of bouncing began to make his head pound. The movement told him House was depressed, but he'd known that anyway. Unless he spoke, he couldn't know how angry he was.

"I told him I'd pay him double to take the morning off as long as he got me a frappuccino."

"Just the morning?"

"I'm not angry at you."

House's abrupt comment made Wilson jump. He'd always taken great pride in the subtlety of his probing, and he'd been caught out after two sentences. Still, it got him his answer.

"You're not angry?" he asked, wishing that said answer hadn't triggered so many more questions.

"I'm angry. Not at you. At me. I put you through so much you can't trust me any more."

"What? House, that's not it!"

"Kiss me."

"What? No!"

"Because we're in danger of being caught. I _know_ you don't want that. And you don't trust that I'll respect it. Kiss me."

House was being stubborn and arrogant and it was annoyance and frustration that made Wilson do as he was told, in an effort to prove him wrong. And _God_, he had missed that mouth. It had been less than a day, but so many scenarios running through his head, the thought that he might never get to kiss House again, had made it feel like so much longer. For that moment, he didn't care that he was at work, in a room where anybody could walk in on them, and in the moment after, he whimpered softly as House broke their embrace.

"Take a step backwards."

Wilson was too stunned, still trying to get over the sensation and the pain of the abrupt end, not to do as he was told. And, a second later, the door opened, a nurse Wilson didn't recognise asking if Doctor Chase was ready for his next patient. House smiled, nodded, gave Wilson one of his _I told you so_ looks as she left.

"You can trust me."

"I do trust you."

Wilson said it, but his melancholy tone and his evasive staring at the floor made it as obvious as anything that it wasn't true.

"Do everything I say until lunchtime tomorrow. If I break your trust, even once, then you can decide what happens to this relationship. If I don't, then it's my decision."

House's proposal was tempting, Wilson had to admit. But… a whole day of being told exactly what to do? He didn't know if he could deal with that… but the urge to prove House wrong, to wipe that damn smirk off his face was calling to him.

"Alright."

House smiled, evidently pleased with himself.

"Consult," he ordered, surprisingly pleasantly, as his new patient entered the room. Wilson blinked, but didn't move, preparing to do as he was told.

"Hi. I'm Katie," she greeted as she sat down on the chair House vacated for her.

"I should hope so, or I've got the wrong file."

Wilson stared at House, glad that he was standing behind their patient so she couldn't see his expression. House was aware of it, but ignored it completely as he continued, surprisingly convincing Australian accent still in place.

"And… you've found a lump in your left breast."

"Uh-huh. My mom had cancer, so she's always told me to check whenever I shower. Guess I should be glad now, huh?"

"Well, it might not be cancer. It could just be benign, but we're going to check it anyway. Well, I say _we_. This is Doctor Wilson, he's an oncologist. He'll be the one doing the checking. You'll have to strip to the waist, I'm afraid, would you like me to leave the room?"

"You're a doctor. You've seen worse, I'm sure."

Katie pulled her shirt over her head, Wilson taking a moment to force himself into friendly handsome doctor mode before examining her.

"Gosh, you're much better than my boyfriend. Wanna check the other one, just to make sure?"

"He's probably had more practice than your boyfriend." House commented, his smile appearing friendly to the girl who didn't know him, but slightly bitter to Wilson's trained eye.

"Save your breath, _Chase_, you'll need it to blow up the only girl _you_ can get."

House recognised that tone. It was a warning, and although he knew the comment about Wilson's experience actually had little to do with it, he submitted with a smile. He knew that Wilson didn't appreciate their talk being interrupted, and did his best to end it as quickly as possible. Of course, that would be made much easier if Wilson finished fondling this teenage girl's breast _before _they retired.

"Okay, I'm going to order you a CT scan, because I wouldn't like to guess. It's probably nothing to be worried about, I just want to make sure."

"That's what they told my mom."

There was an underlying bitterness in Katie's tone too, suddenly, and Wilson let only House see the hurt she'd caused.

"Did she go to Princeton General?" House asked.

"Uhh… yeah."

"Then she wasn't treated by one of the best oncologists in the state."

Katie blinked. She looked at Wilson questioningly, and upon noticing her look he frowned and looked to see if anybody was behind him, although the slight flush that crossed his cheeks at the praise remained. She smiled slightly, nodding, and after dressing herself once more, allowed House to lead her from the room and leave her in the hands of a nurse while he returned to more pressing matters.

"Am I that predictable?" Wilson asked a little sadly as House sat down again.

House raised his eyebrows. However, while he had meant for his expression to convey his confusion, Wilson took it slightly differently.

"You knew I'd come and see you when I did. The oncology consult?"

"I know _you_."

Wilson sighed, shook his head. Rolled his eyes but moved unwillingly into House's arms as the other man gestured for him to come closer, allowing Wilson to lean against his chest while House held him loosely around the waist, his breath ruffling Wilson's hair slightly as he sighed.

"You're affectionate today," Wilson couldn't help but comment, his inflection neutral, not judging.

"Being Chase is getting to me."

"So am I technically cheating on you?"

"_You're_ the expert on that."

Wilson's anger flared momentarily, and he poked House viciously in the ribs, pulling away from him to glare.

"I would _never_ do that to you."

"Never do what? Lie to me?"

House held Wilson's gaze steadily, slightly questioningly, challenging him to deny it. And Wilson was the first to blink and look away. He _knew_ what he had done was wrong, but… he'd just been so _scared_. And House was pushing him, making him feel so much worse because he hated when there was a conflict between them. Hated when House was so wrapped up in his own concerns that he didn't notice Wilson was hurting too; was so concerned with doing things _his _way.

And Wilson's breath caught in his throat, his eyes meeting House's once again as the realisation sunk in. That was exactly what _he'd_ been doing. And House knew that. He knew all of it! And he'd pushed because he'd known exactly what Wilson's reaction would be.

"House, I'm sorry."

Wilson laid a hand gently over the spot where he'd dug his finger sharply into House's ribs, looked imploringly at the other man. House nodded; _he'd known that too_, but didn't smile as he leaned forward to kiss… Wilson's cheek. Wilson blinked in surprise, and then jumped as a nurse entered.

"Ready for your next patient, _Doctor Chase_?"

Wilson recognised her as one of the nurses he'd briefly tried to get close to before discovering she was married, and made a mental note to thank House later for not letting her see what would have happened had Wilson been in control, and then realised that House would know he was grateful whether he said it or not. So why bother?

"Send 'em in."

House invited with exaggerated enthusiasm and Australian accent back in place as he took a file from the nurse. Wilson thought it was a little odd that people noticed the accent more than the age, or the cane, but he supposed that, since House was being a lot less abusive than usual, it was unlikely to come under scrutiny and a passing comment about apparent nationality would suffice.

It worried him slightly that he was able to follow House's train of thought so quickly. Maybe they really were getting closer…

"Go do some work," House said, as he flipped through the chart, "Don't want you getting jealous now."

"Thanks for your concern," Wilson's sarcasm was clear, but as a man who weighed at least three times as much as he was supposed to entered the room, he hid a smile, "Right. I'll let you know when I get the results of the CT scan."

And he left, leaving House to smile about just how much Wilson cared about what his patients thought about him. And also, how Wilson unintentionally thought so much of _him_. He knew Wilson pretty well, sure, but he didn't get files for clinic patients until about three minutes before he spoke to them. How could he possibly have known that?

The rest was all his own work, though, of course. _Damn_, but he was good. A whole twenty-four hours of having Wilson do exactly as he pleased. Of course, he had to finish with clinic duty first.

House made a mental note to thank Chase for being so openly disgusted by fat people. It just made it so much easier to act.

**OoOoO**

_Has House done **any** clinic duty in series 4? Hmm..._


	13. Chapter 13

_Summary: House is so much easier to deal with when he thinks you're a hallucination. HW slash._

**OoOoO**

"Wilson, I- what?"

When House had burst into Wilson's office, he had fully expected to find the other man sitting at his desk, working like he'd told him to just a few hours ago. He could also have accepted finding Wilson asleep on the couch, standing out on the balcony, or flipping idly through a medical journal. The last thing he'd expected to find, however, was a young woman, barely more than a girl, sitting at Wilson's desk surrounded by sheets of paper as she typed on a laptop computer.

"He's gone to get some food. Do you have an appointment?" she asked, without looking up from her screen.

"Uh… who're you?"

"My name's Hannah. I'm part of the data entry team that's helping with your server switchover."

_The what?_ House frowned. As a department head he should have been notified, but then it could have been mentioned in any of the 15 unread memos that were languishing in his hospital e-mail address inbox. Not that it would actually have affected his actions in any way, shape or form.

"How long have you been here?"

"Just since this morning. I'll be here for three days."

House's frown deepened. _That_, he didn't like the sound of. Wilson's office was the closest he could come to a private place at work; the glass walls that made up his office looked pretty good, and gave him the audience he didn't usually mind having when he was able to chastise one of his team for being an idiot, but it did make him a little uncomfortable at times. And if this girl was going to be in Wilson's office for three days, it meant that he would not only get very little time to himself, he'd also get very little time to be alone with Wilson. And that, considering he'd just persuaded the other man to do his bidding until the next morning, was rather frustrating.

And the idea of Wilson spending that much time with an admittedly fairly attractive teenaged girl made him a little more uncomfortable than he would like.

"Do you…" he paused, taking a seat on the couch, "get on well with Doctor Wilson?"

"I guess so. I mean, he doesn't talk much-"

_What?_

"-and he's kind of… spacey. He barely even noticed I was here this morning, and then he went off somewhere-"

House smiled slightly. He knew Wilson had been worrying about him.

"-and he was obviously feeling better when he came back, but… is he usually so shy?"

_What? Were they talking about the same person?_

"Uh, shy?" House had to ask, feigning ignorance to cover his surprise. Shy? _Wilson_? He got on well with all people, whether he'd met them before or not. He'd go out of his way to make sure they were comfortable, and occasionally be a little too friendly for House's liking. But that was just him caring. Worrying that people wouldn't like him. But this girl… _she_ didn't like him. She didn't dislike him, of course, but her feelings seemed pretty neutral. And House knew that, to Wilson, that was just as bad.

"Yeah, I mean… I'll ask him for help reading some of his reports and he'll stay as far away as possible. I handed him a coffee earlier and he almost dropped it because he was trying so hard not to let his hand touch mine. And, I mean, he's an attractive guy, and I thought he'd be a bit of a lech, if anything, but… it's like he's terrified of me."

House frowned thoughtfully. That was strange. Wilson, even if he wasn't trying to get them to marry him, enjoyed the company of females; could admire their form without having to make an attempt to get into their pants. That was just the way it usually turned out because he couldn't resist the chance to remind himself that he was just that charming.

"Are… you alright?" Hannah asked him, obviously thinking his thoughtful silence had gone on for too long.

"Yeah," House nodded, as he began to realise just what was happening, "Thanks for your help."

"Uh… you're welcome." Hannah looked confused. House couldn't blame her; he was pretty confused himself, but he knew, suddenly, exactly what it was that was wrong with Wilson. And that evening would be the perfect time to attempt to solve the problem. He smiled to himself, and left the room without a backwards glance at the girl who was still blinking at him, clearly unnerved. House didn't care though. She could think whatever the hell she wanted, and he knew for a fact that she wouldn't be able to talk to Wilson about what she'd said to him. By the sound of things she couldn't talk to him about anything at all.

Which, he found himself thinking, was exactly how he liked it.

**OoOoO**

"I've figured out what your problem is," House announced, almost in passing as Wilson left his office that evening, ready to go home –or to House's- with Hannah following, ignored, behind him, "And I have a solution."

"Well, I'll miss you at first, but I'm sure I'll get over it by the time I get to my car."

Hannah giggled, and Wilson glanced at her before turning to look expectantly at House, waiting for the gloating to really begin. It didn't. House just smiled at him. Wilson narrowed his eyes, searching for any sort of clue in that expression.

"Well, I'll see you later, Doctor Wilson," Hannah, obviously fed up with waiting, said as she left, shaking her head at the situation she found herself in. Wilson knew that House had seen him tense at the sound of her voice, and broke their eye contact, slightly embarrassed.

"_She_'s your problem."

"What? We met this morning!"

"Okay, so not her specifically. Women. They're your problem."

"Freud would be thrilled."

House's expression sobered. Wilson was tensing emotionally as well, and that wasn't going to help either of them.

"Let's go home," he said, offering his arm for Wilson to take. He was unsurprised by the fact that Wilson didn't do so, instead falling into step beside him as they headed for the elevator, which was blessedly empty as they descended to the ground floor.

"What's she like?" House had to ask, more curious about Wilson's reaction to the question than his actual answer.

"Who?"

"Hannah."

"_Who_?" Wilson stared at him, obviously confused, and House blinked in surprise. That was _very _weird. He hadn't expected Wilson to take it quite that far.

"The girl who's… been in your office all day?"

"I- oh, her. Yeah, she's… alright. Didn't talk to her much."

"Obviously not."

House's eyes narrowed as Wilson avoided his eyes, instead staring evasively at the floor. Apparently things were more serious than he'd thought. He sighed, was about to, despite himself, reach out to touch the other man's shoulder because he just looked so lost, but the jolt as the lift reached their floor stopped him. Wilson started walking before House had even really processed what the opening of the doors meant.

Still, House didn't let it dampen his spirits. He knew Wilson well enough to tell that he was embarrassed and upset rather than angry. _And_ he knew the best way to solve the problem.

**OoOoO**

"You want to do _what_?"

"Tie you up."

"And you thought I'd agree to this because…?"

"Because you agreed to do whatever I tell you."

"Because you came to the conclusion that I didn't trust you!"

"I…" House paused for a moment to look into Wilson's eyes, knowing that convincing him of the first point would be the hardest, "I was wrong."

Wilson looked as though he was about to faint from shock.

"You _what_?"

"I was wrong," House repeated it, and saw Wilson's expression soften as he realised just how difficult it must have been for him to say that, "You trust me. You know you shouldn't. But you do. You don't trust _yourself_."

Wilson didn't say anything, just looked at him curiously, and House knew for certain that he was right.

"That's why you wouldn't talk to Hannah. Because she… is an attractive woman. And you're scared you won't be able to resist her."

And after a moment, Wilson smiled sadly. And nodded his agreement.

"Where do you want me?" he asked.

House had thought long and hard about the answer to that question all afternoon, and those adjectives were swiftly becoming more and more appropriate.

"On the bed. I'm not an animal."

Wilson was shaking, nervous butterflies in his stomach, but he smiled slightly as House nodded towards the bedroom, following at a distance that allowed him to enjoy the view. He stopped by the side of the bed, though, unaware of exactly what was expected of him, and couldn't help but jump as House pressed himself up against his back, wrapping strong arms tightly around his waist, holding him close as he kissed his neck.

"You…" House began, as his hands strayed upwards to undo Wilson's tie, "are not going to do _anything_. Understand?"

Wilson nodded, unable to retain any semblance of coherency as he surrendered his will to the other man. He let his head fall back against House's shoulder, still managing to be careful and make it his left side even as House started on his shirt buttons. It was… strange to be in such a situation with House, although he knew it would have been infinitely stranger with anybody else. He allowed himself to submit so rarely and while it was making him feel uncomfortable because he couldn't return the favours House was bestowing on him, he had to admit that part of his brain was telling him it felt… nice.

House, finished with his buttons, took a step backward and pushed it from his shoulders. Wilson let it fall, unheeded, and bit his lip as House began to massage, adept hands traversing his back and shoulders with a practiced finesse. He made a soft sound of approval, could almost _feel_ House smirking behind him, but had to clench his fists, nails digging into his palms with the effort it took not to move to repay House for his efforts.

"See, _this_ is why I have to tie you up." House leaned closer for a moment, his frustratingly clothed chest barely even touching Wilson's back as he spoke quietly in his ear, fingers still playing around his collarbone. One hand reached up to tug softly on Wilson's hair, pulling his head back so House could see his expression.

"You alright?"

Wilson nodded dumbly, some part of his subconscious recognising what the question meant, and whimpered softly as House's warmth left him.

"On the bed," House commanded, giving Wilson a slight push in the right direction to get him going. And, dazedly, Wilson did as he was told, taking a moment to rearrange pillows before settling on his back, watching as House retrieved a black length of material that might have been a scarf and nodded in the direction of the headboard. Suddenly incredibly aware of the commitment he was making, Wilson felt himself beginning to tremble slightly and had to take a deep breath to steady himself as he raised his arms above his head and allowed House to secure them to the middle vertical rail. He shifted a little awkwardly, trying to find the best position for the sake of his blood circulation, before closing his eyes and trying to relax.

House's weight made one side of the bed dip, and Wilson opened his eyes again to find the other man watching him, unabashedly enjoying the view. As time began to pass, however, and he continued to find himself under such scrutiny, he looked away, unable to help the flush that crept uninvited onto his cheeks.

"Look at me."

Again, Wilson bit his lip, aware he couldn't disobey without breaking their agreement, and did as he was bid with some difficulty. Honestly, the intensity in House's eyes was scaring him and the smile on the other man's face made him wonder if he was being mocked despite himself.

"Now, what _shall _I do with you?" House sounded thoughtful as he leaned over to trace a line up the centre of Wilson's chest, and back down again. Wilson wasn't even sure if he was entirely aware that he was doing it as he continued to talk, obviously lost in images of his own creation, "You're all mine. All night. I could keep you hanging on, torturing you for hours until you _beg_ me to give you what you want…"

Wilson shuddered at the sheer sexiness of that voice, feeling arousal beginning to pool in his groin as he arched his back slightly, beginnings of an erection finding no relief against the material of his pants.

"_Somebody_ likes that idea," House let his hand drift downwards, brushing softly at the growing bulge and making Wilson whimper helplessly, bucking ever so slightly against the contact, "Do you like to beg, Wilson? Do you like the idea of somebody else having complete power over you? Over what you think…"

House stood, aware of Wilson's beautifully dark, half-lidded eyes on him as he did so. Unable to keep the smirk from his face, he began to unbutton his own shirt, adoring how, suddenly, Wilson found himself unable to break the eye contact he'd found so difficult just a few moments ago. God, he loved that feeling of power. The knowledge that he was the only one who could do that to such a gorgeous, perfect man. If he was honest, part of his erection was just from his pride in his own ability. Although, as he crawled with some difficulty across the bed to settle with his knees on either side of Wilson's hips, weight shifted as far left as was possible, the sight of Wilson, helpless beneath him was beginning to overtake it.

"What you _feel_…" he continued, smoothing his hands upwards over Wilson's chest, leaning forwards until, hands on the mattress either side of Wilson's head supporting his weight, he could finally claim the kiss he'd been denied since that morning.

Wilson tried desperately to follow his mouth upwards as he withdrew, and again House felt that thrill of power, smiling as he stayed just out of reach, eyes straying momentarily upwards to remind himself of the sight of Wilson's wrists bound to his headboard.

"What you _do_… or don't do, as the case may be," he _knew_ his smugness was annoying, infuriating, but that just made it all the more glorious. And as Wilson, eyes pleading, looked up at him, wordlessly _begging_ him to have mercy, he knew his plan was working. He leaned down again, but wasn't quite as obliging as the previous time, merely taking Wilson's bottom lip between his teeth and tugging playfully before letting it slip slowly, savouring his dominance because he knew that, soon enough, he wouldn't be able to contain himself.

"House…" Wilson whimpered softly, unable to take it any more, and the other man closed his eyes as the sound shot straight to his groin, "Will you please just kiss me?"

And House couldn't deny him _that_. He passionately, desperately did as he was asked, shifting his weight to allow him to support it on one arm as he tangled his fingers in the other man's hair, trying to keep him as close as possible because he didn't know how else to express what he was feeling. What he had always felt.

"I love you," he said quietly as their mouths untangled for a moment, met Wilson's eyes to find them searching his for sincerity.

"I love _you_."

The response came, and House found himself smiling suddenly for a whole different reason.

"You won't, by the end of this," he warned, with a final kiss before he began to trail downwards. Already, Wilson was responding, arching his back, making soft sounds that didn't seem to need to distinguish between objection and encouragement as House kissed the line he'd traced with his fingers earlier, down the centre of Wilson's chest, and back again.

"What are you _doing?_" Wilson half-groaned as House moved back upwards to lavish attention on his neck, licking, sucking, biting in all the right places.

"Me?" House feigned innocence, moved once more to look Wilson in the eye, "Just… making sure you won't be able to think about anyone else ever again."

Wilson laughed, a beautiful sound that made House's chest ache. He was _appreciated_. He was… doing the right thing, for once in his life. And it felt fantastic.

"Well…" Wilson began, managing something close to his normal voice in the momentary pause on House's part. As he opened his mouth to continue speaking, however, House couldn't resist raising a hand to pinch his nipple, _hard_, and he let out a completely uninhibited whimper of pain before he could stop himself. He glared, opened his mouth once more to berate the other man, but could do nothing but groan as House twisted sharply, before lowering his mouth to the reddened skin and sucking gently, lapping wetly to soothe it.

"I think it's working," Wilson breathed, struggling against his bonds as the urge to tangle his fingers in House's hair, pull sharply and repay him for what he'd done made itself known. After a moment, though, he found himself unable to do anything but let his head fall back, helplessly, and try to keep from sounding like a porn star.

House knew, though; _always_ knew exactly what he wanted although he wasn't always willing to give it. Again, he kissed a trail downwards, shifting backwards, down the bed, kissing and delving his tongue into Wilson's navel as he began to work at his belt. Wilson's breath caught in his throat at the new, unfamiliar sensation and the instinctive lifting of his hips, desperately seeking more contact, helped House work his pants down, distracting him all the while. Wilson, so lost in his frustration at his own inability to contribute, didn't even really register it until a hot, damp hand grasped his cock so much more tightly than he was used to, and his hips attempted to push upwards, involuntarily, until they met with the resistance House's other hand was providing.

Again, that helpless whimper escaped his throat, and House, obviously pleased with the reaction he was getting, began to stroke him. He was _so_ close, so fucking close to coming in his best friend's hand, releasing all over his stomach while he was tied to a familiar bed that he'd believed for so long was unreachable. But then, House's hand slowed, before leaving him entirely.

"Oh, _God_, don't torture me," he'd said before even really thinking. He heard House laugh, felt him moving off the bed and looked in the direction he thought he'd gone. House was standing, his body not the only thing upright, by the side of his bed, removing his own pants with definite impatience. Wilson's eyes lingered only for a second on the scar before focusing on what he considered to be a much more important detail at that particular point in time.

"See what you do to me?" House asked him, sadly. _Too_ sadly. Wilson nodded, because of course he saw. His heart was aching as he struggled against his bonds, desperately wanting to hold the other man, to comfort him, but House ignored his silent request, instead returning to sit astride his stomach, apparently completely unbothered by his nakedness.

"Watch me," House whispered, his eyes never leaving Wilson's as he took himself in hand and began to pump. Wilson couldn't have done anything else if he'd tried; he stared, open mouthed as House leaned forwards, supporting himself with a hand braced on the headboard, pupils dilated and breathing heavy as he pushed himself towards completion. Wilson arched his back, more aroused than he could ever remember being, wanted desperately to touch, to hold House as he came with a soft murmur of Wilson's name over the other man's chest.

House took a moment to recover, head hanging as he caught his breath, but took mercy on Wilson, since it wasn't exactly fair to leave only him hanging on. Again, he moved downwards, glancing upwards to take in the view of a tousled, flushed Wilson that was all his own doing before he wrapped his hand around his cock and lowered his mouth to suck softly on the head.

Wilson groaned, a deep, rumbling sound that made House's arousal spike until his exhausted body rejected the suggestion of another round. And, after a few hard, fast strokes, he came just as hard and fast _into House's mouth_. The very thought coaxed a final weak spurt from him, and as House sat up, made sure he was paying attention and swallowed deliberately, lips shining with moisture, he groaned again, unable to express himself in words.

House licked his lips, slowly and completely on purpose as he moved upwards once more to undo Wilson's bindings. The moment he was free, successfully ignoring his need to stretch muscles that were beginning to cramp, Wilson reached up with both hands and pulled House down into a passionate kiss.

"I love you," he said breathlessly, against the other man's mouth, "I love you so much."

He found his voice cracking on the final word, felt House smile and raise a hand to stroke his cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Maybe House's ideas weren't always that bad.

**OoOoO**

_I know, I know. It's been far too long. It honestly would have been longer, but someone actually threatened to kill herself if I didn't update and while I'm aware it wasn't serious, it did remind me of how annoying it can be to have to wait._

_And a bound, naked Wilson is just too gorgeous to put into words. Didn't stop me trying, though._


End file.
